


Triage

by bossladyharley



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: F/M, Gladiators, Humanformers, Medic AU, Pre- and During War, Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-30
Updated: 2018-03-10
Packaged: 2018-10-25 15:23:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 38,495
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10767006
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bossladyharley/pseuds/bossladyharley
Summary: Cybertron. A world where caste is pit against caste, where injustice flourishes and corruption is the law of the land. In order to shake people out of apathy, sometimes a dramatic example is needed. Sometimes people need a show of force. Before he was Megatron, leader of the Decepticons, he was a low-caste miner, fighting in the gladiatorial arena with a stolen name, attempting to spark a revolution. Before she was sent to Kaon to serve her probation, she was an elite medical student with a promising future ahead. Neither expected that meeting the other would alter their plans so drastically.





	1. The Medic of Crystal City

**Author's Note:**

> After receiving some anonymous encouragement on my tumblr, I've decided to be brave and post one of my self-inserts on here. If you've stumbled across this, I hope you have fun with this thing that started out as a medic au drabble and which has now become a multi-chapter story I'm working on. If it's not your thing, that's fine, too. I'm at peace with it.
> 
> Characterizations are mostly coming from TFP as I know them. I'm also pulling certain events and inspiration from the _Exodus_ novel. The rest I'm making up.

tri·age

_noun_

1\. (In medical use) the assignment of degrees of urgency to wounds or illnesses to decide the order of treatment of a large number of patients or casualties.

  * The process of determining the most important people or things from amongst a large number that require attention.



**Origin**

Early 18th century: from French, from _trier_ ‘separate out.’ The medical sense dates from the 1930s, from the military system of assessing the wounded on the battlefield.

* * *

If the wound was painful, he didn’t show it. What else could be expected of Kaon’s reigning champion, the gladiator known only as Megatronus?

This was her third time seeing him up close, the second time she’d been called to aid him, though last time she had only been observing the head arena doctor, a surly man named Ratchet. Megatronus hadn’t spoken to her—he’d barely spoken to his own medic—and he hadn’t even _looked_ at her, either. She had given him the same courtesy. All she’d focused on was his head injury, conveniently located near the nape of his neck.

Even so, Melody still couldn’t believe how large he was, but then transmissions were always deceptive about these things. The only thing that kept her from being annoyed at how small and fragile she felt in comparison was her current endeavor of stitching shut a shoulder wound. Unfortunately, it couldn’t completely distract her from the conversation currently taking place between the gladiator and Ajax, one of the crime bosses who organized the now infamous, underground pit fights.

“—complete surprise that we made so much, considering how, forgive me,  _predictable_  your victories are becoming, Megatronus. And losing Spitfire that way. We expected his career to last for ten more cycles  _at least_.”

Spitfire. That’s right. One of her regular patch-up jobs, Spitfire was the one she had been expecting to see today, but that was before she learned who his opponent was. Before Megatronus apparently tore him to shreds and left him for dead in the arena. Melody took a deep breath, willing her hands to remain steady as she stitched, lest Megatronus decided to rip  _her_ to pieces. Gingerly but quickly, she wove the needle and thread through. In, out, over, under. In, out, over, under. 

She was jarred again when Megatronus’s voice growled beside her, a threatening sound that she felt in the air and under the very skin she touched.

“I don’t lose, Ajax. You place me in these fights so I can win. Or am I misunderstanding our agreement?”

Ajax didn’t look perturbed at all, which was impressive because Melody felt like taking a ship to the next planet to get away from the hostility the gladiator was generating. Instead, the crime lord sighed and waved a hand carelessly. “Yes, yes. But people start to get wise, they start to recognize patterns. For us to keep making money, we need our favorites to lose sometimes. It’s smart business.”

Megatronus laughed, harsh and cocky. “And why should I care whether you and your little friends make money at my expense?”

In, out, over, under. In, out, over, un—

“Because if you don’t, then there are no more fights for you. The elite castes see you as this entertaining, terrifying pastime, but _we_ remember what you are. We’ve mostly taken you out of those mines, but we can throw you back in and forget about you all the same.” Ajax’s smile was so greasy Melody felt she could cook with it. “Think on it, won’t you?”

Melody centered her entire world onto the wound sliced across the curve of Megatronus’ shoulder, trying not to concede to herself that she was one of those elites who found him utterly terrifying. But she was, and she did, and she couldn’t believe that she was here now, facing one of her greatest fears with no way out of it. In, out, over, under. Why couldn’t she have just kept her damn mouth shut? In, out, over, under.

She’d managed to narrow her focus so successfully that she didn’t see Ajax leave or notice Megatronus’ brooding silence as their talk ended. Or the way his attention inevitably became drawn to her. 

“You seem agitated. Did we upset you?” 

Melody jerked back, flushing at the deep timbre of his voice. “Oh, that? I wasn’t listening.”

“… _Really?_ ”

Yeah, she wouldn’t have believed her, either. 

Bracing herself, Melody caught his gaze—even his eyes were crimson like a demon’s—and settled on a split second half-truth.

“I’m just frustrated. I’m terribly sorry, but—with what I have—this is going to leave a bad scar.”

But even before she stopped talking, Melody spotted the numerous scars—some small and unnoticeable, others jagged and stark in the light—littering his toned body, peeking out from under his clothes and bandages. Had he gotten all of those since his career in the arena started? Or had most of them already been a part of him before, courtesy of being born to the miner caste?

Megatronus was watching her steadily. But then his mouth quirked to the side, and he shrugged his uninjured shoulder. “One more won’t make a difference.”

She could see that, but she still shook her head. “These fights are illegal, but the elites love them too much to stop them. But not so much that they bother to send us along with the proper equipment to care for the fighters, apparently.”

He quirked up an arched eyebrow, amused. “Does that shock you?” 

“No, unfortunately not.” How many times had she sat with other gladiators in their dying moments, unable to do anything about their injuries besides numbing their pain?

She went back to her stitching, leaning over his shoulder to get to the final areas of the wound just at the apex.

A stretch of silence passed between them, but Melody found that she was burning to ask.

“So, about that conversation I wasn’t listening to. Are you really going to throw a match?” 

His body was tense but his tone was surprisingly pleasant. “I would sooner tear down this entire facility with my bare hands than give that gutless filth the satisfaction.”

She believed him, so much so that her voice shook. “We can’t have that, then. It’d disappoint all your adoring fans.”

“I suppose. Though, I’d mostly miss the female attention.”

Even when she glanced at him, at his slight grin, she couldn’t tell if he was joking. More importantly, she found that she didn’t _want_ to know.

“You’re the first female medic I’ve had, but you’re obviously not new to this. Where did you study?”

“Who says I’ve studied?”

“You’ve studied,” Megatronus said with utmost certainty, his eyes showing the first signs of strain. She hadn’t bothered insulting him by asking if he wanted painkillers prior to the procedure. “Though I’ve certainly had better bedside manner.”

“Coming from Ratchet, that must have been terrifying for you.” The words were out of her mouth before she could take them back.

His surprised laughter was some sleek form of predator, slowly stalking in the grass. It made her body grow hot with embarrassment. “You must not have had the same teachers as the other medics.”

He wasn’t going to drop it. Melody finished knotting the last suture then reached for the bandages. “Well, the doctors in Crystal City aren’t exactly known for their coddling and hand-holding. Or acceptance of excuses. So I guess they have that in common with Ratchet, though I don’t know where he or any of the others studied.”

“What’s your name?” His words were rumbles of distant thunder in her ears.

Not seeing how it could damn her, she answered.

But then he said it, like he owned it.

“Melody. Fitting. And here I am, the lowly gladiator, in the presence of a graduate of the esteemed Crystal City. That certainly explains now why you look so finely made and smell so exquisite.”

Startled, she felt her heart quicken at his mocking tone before pounding into a new rhythm at his next words. Megatronus, the champion of Kaon, was flirting with her? _Her?_ No. No, no, no.

Fleetingly, she remembered spraying herself with perfume before being called down to the pits. Her red and white scrubs were pristine and comfortable with fine stitching, not patchworked and threadbare like those of most of her coworkers, medics like her but many from different castes with different life experiences. Purchased in Crystal City, the scrubs were one of the few things she had brought with her to Kaon, one of the few things she refused to be parted with. But under the gladiator's assessing gaze, the scrubs combined with the necklace she wore at her throat became leaden weights, garish and awkward. Melody didn’t have any response prepared, her wit failing her, so she continued taping the bandages. She thanked Primus he couldn’t see her face with the way her hair hung around it, though procedure (Ratchet) typically called for her to pull it back... Her own private rebellion to the powers that be, suddenly turned against her.

Megatronus didn’t need her input to keep talking. “It doesn’t explain, however, how your city’s _accomplished_ scientists could let one of their own go, unaccompanied, to a place like this. Surely, your bondmate doesn’t approve.” 

Finally. A safe-ish topic. “Well, no worries there,” Melody stated, finally leaning back to look at him, as satisfied as she could be with her work. “Because I don’t have one.”

“You’re unbonded?” 

“I’m afraid I was rather insistent upon it.” She gritted her teeth, turning to place her medical utensils back in her personal first aid kit, something each medic had down here. It was all they were allowed beyond the medicine and equipment the pits received from time to time.

Even now, Melody remembered the audacity, the pressure of her caste wanting to force her to bond with someone upon graduation, just because she was female. None of her male counterparts had been harassed about such a thing. She knew; she’d checked.

“And they accepted that? How curiously magnanimous of them.”

But Megatronus viciously grinned at her, his red eyes glinting with something all-too knowing, and Melody was struck with a sense of doom. He was supposed to be a dumb brute, taken from the miner caste and turned into a gladiator. Nothing more. So how could he talk to her like that? How could he _look_ at her like that, if that’s all he was? She was right to be terrified of him, but now she’d found an actual reason to be.

 _The elite castes see you as this entertaining, terrifying pastime, but_ we _remember what you are._

Ajax didn’t know what he was talking about. Didn’t know _who_ he was talking about.

“Clearly not,” she whispered to him. “They forced me to come to Kaon, didn’t they? And now I’m stuck here.”

“Of course you are. You’re a troublemaker.” Megatronus rose then to his full height, and Melody had to take a few steps back in order to keep taking in the dark hair, heavy brow, and the high cheekbones of the warrior before her. But the second he stepped forward, covering the distance she’d set between them in one easy stride, she froze. Because she knew now that he wasn’t a dumb brute but a cunning predator, and whether she knew how or not, she’d gotten herself under his radar.

He leaned down, sweeping his eyes over her face, before resting his mouth against her ear. Megatronus was smiling. She knew because she could feel it, how it grazed the shell of her ear, how the air around him practically sang with it. His warm breath preceded a satisfied growl as he said, “I’ve always had a thing for troublemakers.”

She stood there, controlling her breathing, as he left the room and stayed unmoving several moments after he was gone.

What the hell just happened?


	2. Real Threats

Melody didn't have time to ponder Megatronus' statement in the following days. She didn't even see him again. Between tending to her normal patients, observing with Ratchet, and ensuring what meager medical supplies they were allowed got to where they needed to go, her schedule was a whirlwind of action with little thinking done beyond the clinical. 

One night after another long, long shift, she was mindlessly wrapping and storing bandages, only to jump when a heavy hand landed on her shoulder. 

"Easy there, rookie," an older man's voice said to her with its familiar mixture of roughness and exasperation. She turned to see the head physician of the Pits, Ratchet, whose height and bulk wasn't something to be completely overlooked, especially for a medic. Melody knew that, despite his age, he could hold his own tussles in the ring if he wanted to, had seen him physically wrangle unruly patients into submission before. His short silver hair glinted in the bright lights, and there were perpetual crow's feet around his eyes. Only, the man wasn't smiling but was rather frowning down at her. Melody followed his line of sight to her hands.

She immediately clenched them around the bandage she was still holding, and the slight shaking stopped.

Ratchet blew a puff of air through his nose, shaking his head with discontent. "Weren't you supposed to be home by now?"

Melody didn't waste her breath to point out that she didn't have a home anymore, that she'd been kicked out of the Crystal City, that the tiny, shoddy apartment she lived in now was little more than some place to sleep. That she spent more time here, in this hellhole of Kaon tending to brutes who were determined to tear each other apart, more than anywhere else.

Aloud, she said, feigning surprise, "Oh, is it that time already?"

"It was that time two hours ago. As you well know." Ratchet crossed his arms and glared at her. Even from the first day, he'd seen through her bullshit, though she liked to call it coping with her situation. "Need I remind you that you _won't_ get any sort of overtime for this? That they _won't_ let me pay you or give you anything extra for working beyond your forty hours? And no, you can't report wage theft to anyone, because there's no one down here to report it to, so don't even start with me!"

"I wasn't going to do any such thing."

"And furthermore," Ratchet continued on, as if she hadn't even spoken, "don't expect to earn any points with me for that matter. You working yourself into exhaustion will do more harm than good in the long run. I've got enough to worry about without having to deal with the repercussions of my patients being under the care of a medic with unsteady hands."

Melody was already packing up her kit, preparing to leave. This particular argument was new for them, but the motions were not. "Yes, yes, you're right as always, Ratchet." 

"And don't you forget it." He crossed his arms, his orange and white scrubs crinkling slightly. "I may not have a fancy degree like you, my dear, but trust me when I say that my experience trumps it every time."

She turned around and leveled an almost fond smile at him. "Of that, I have no doubt. Goodnight, doctor."

"You have the day off tomorrow," Ratchet said, turning with her to follow her out of the room. She stopped at the threshold, throwing a questioning look over her shoulder.

"But what about the match with—?"

"Let me worry about that." He waved her off. "While I can't pay you overtime, the mob will certainly take notice if a medic is here more than they should be. Trust me when I say that you don't want to attract their attention for any reason. So I'll clean up the mess tomorrow with the hands I have. It can't be helped." 

Melody nodded understandably, though she really didn't understand any of it. She didn't argue, however. Such a thing was pointless when Ratchet was involved.

"And when you get back," Ratchet said, pinning her with a hard stare, "I've got another little matter to discuss with you."

She lifted an eyebrow. "What about?" 

But Ratchet shook his head, already turning away. A dismissal. "Go get some rest. All of that will be settled the day after tomorrow. Provided, of course, that you can get that shaking under control." 

Melody glared at his back, but responded with a bright, confident "No problem!" 

Ratchet snorted, but Melody was already gone, her feet carrying her through the underground halls hewn from a combination of dark gray stone and silver steel. Her legs began to burn on the incline, but she didn't slow. Soon, she'd be out in the open, twilight coloring the sky in hues of gold, orange, pink, and blue, the wind on her face cool and refreshing. Much more so than the hot, stale, and stifling air of the pits of Kaon.

Voices, all male, carried their way down the corridor, and Melody sized them up, but they were too faint to be discernible. She ducked into a side hallway and leaned her back against the wall, waiting to let them pass, not much feeling like being stopped, leered at, or otherwise messed with today. Not when she had a train to catch.

The first voice was quiet but smooth. Matter-of-fact. Hearing its steady cadence evoked images of light flowing through circuitry, of neurons firing and receiving. Steady, constant, assured.

"—could be a problem. Perhaps we should eliminate the threat before there is one."

"Ajax already exaggerates his own importance. Don't give him the courtesy of thinking similarly," the second replied in a voice of rolling thunder and hard stone. A voice that brokered no argument, no resistance, a voice of unflinching command and fallen armies. Melody's spine snapped straight. She knew that voice, had experienced its sheer power rumbling in her ear nearly a week ago. How could she have forgotten it, the effect of it?

She held completely still as Megatronus and his companion passed the opening to her hallway. A quick glance of a hulking frame almost as large as Megatronus’, clothed in colors of purple and black, told her instantly who the second man was. Soundwave. Melody had never treated him before, never seen much of him at all actually, but his reputation preceded him. He was undefeated just like Megatronus was, as far as she knew. She had no idea they were… Not friends, maybe, but amicable with each other?

Not, she reminded herself, that it mattered.

They passed her without incident, not even a glance thrown her way where she lurked in the shadows. Soundwave responded in that cool, pointed way of his, "Ignoring this borders on blind arrogance. Perhaps you exaggerate your own importance as well."

Melody's eyes widened at the insult, but it merely evoked an amused laugh from Megatronus. "I keep _real_ threats close to me, Soundwave. But thank you for reminding me that I also keep you around for your unexpected humor," he said dryly.

"Have it your way then. But I will keep watching him."

"Do as you like."

Her steps light and without any sound, Melody edged out from her hiding spot as their voices grew fainter. She threw a parting glance to them, to the broad shoulders, to the way they walked in-step with each other, Soundwave on Megatronus' right side as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Then she was off, continuing on her way undetected, her steps still much lighter than they needed to be. 

She didn't know how she knew, but the exact second Megatronus' eyes landed on her, she felt it searing into her back, attempting to halt her through will alone.

Melody didn't quicken her pace, merely kept that determined stride, intent on getting back to her apartment and nothing else.

She did not once look back.

* * *

She flashed her badge at the doorman, the last of many checkpoints she'd had to get through on her journey from the pits to the residential sector. One of many, her sector was considered one of the nicer areas of Kaon, which said a lot about Kaon and the caste system at large.

Everything was so structured, divided. And those divisions had no flexibility, no blurred edges, no causes for exception. Perhaps the only exception she'd ever seen were the pits themselves, which technically didn't exist or at least weren't acknowledged officially. There, people of all castes were in the same space, though they rarely interacted. There were private boxes for a reason, and so many areas where she, medic though she was, was never allowed to go.

The doorman accepted her badge and scanned it, disinterested in the flashing green light of acceptance even as a red warning label scrolled across his datapad. A warning of her probation. Her badge, which displayed her status as a medic along with her current residence and occupation, was also marred with its own red mark, a clear physical sign to anyone what her recent status in her caste was. A clear sign that she was being punished. Melody waited for the familiar shame to rise up, and it did. It was just dulled, impalpable, as if it were an ache her body wasn't fully registering or was beginning to ignore.

He handed her badge back to her, face still a bland assortment of disinterest. The two of them did this dance every day. "Another workday done, eh?"

"Yeah." She'd also quit starting at the sight of his green livery, nowhere near pristine but still official looking, and the gun strapped in a holster by his side, an unseen sight in Crystal City. More armed guard than a doorman, really, but when she'd asked if he was part of the local law enforcement, he'd just snickered at her.

She'd figured it out quickly enough. He wasn't the first one she'd seen doing whatever he needed to do to protect what he had.

"You change shifts or something? You're getting here later and later."

She shook her head, stowing her badge in her pants pocket. "Just lost track of time."

"Well, try not to lose too much. You get here too much later, and no one will be here to let you in. Curfew's a bitch you don't want to be stuck in, trust me. The patrols here aren't like the ones in Crystal City. Everyone here is a criminal."

He was just trying to help, but Melody scowled all the same. "Thanks," she said, not sounding too grateful at all. "I'll remember."

He let her inside, and she stormed up the two flights of stairs to her apartment, not even sure why she was so angry all of a sudden, just that she was.

This anger. This sudden rush of heat and clenched hands and teeth. She'd felt it more and more since coming to Kaon, and often she wondered if it was the fighting atmosphere that triggered it, the violence and unbridled passion she hovered on the precipice of, day in and day out. There were times she wondered if stepping into the arena herself would cure her of this anger, if being able to unleash it in full would make it dissipate for good.

Deep down, she knew it wouldn't. Because it wasn't Kaon. It wasn't being here that made her angry. She'd been angry long before that. She just wished she knew why.

She took out her badge again and jammed it into the lock of her apartment door. The familiar flashes of green, of acceptance. She jerked her card out and the door whooshed open. The door shut behind her just as she turned on the lights to her apartment. The sight of it brought her no comfort.

Unless you bought your own residence, the nicest places to live in Kaon were ones like the apartment she currently stood in. A mattress was jammed into the corner of the room, no frame to hold it. It was here she dropped her kit and badge before taking the four steps into her kitchen, which was little more than a small refrigerator and stove shoved against another wall and a table and chair set barely big enough for two. In between the kitchen and her bed was a small closet that hosted a toilet and shower. Next to that, at the foot of her bed, stood a small dresser that held her clothes, which weren't many or various.

One room, two if you counted the water closet. That's all she had to her name right now. 

She knew that she should feel grateful, knew that there were so many who didn't have a dry place to sleep or get clean or prepare a hot meal. She’d passed many of them on the streets, avoiding their eyes and frequent calls for help. In the end, she _was_ grateful, but she was resentful, too. Grateful for this chance at redemption, but resentful because all she'd known before this was ease and comfort. Nothing had prepared her for this, how jarring it would be, how rough and discordant, how it would make her thoughts strained, hungry, and desperate—for what, she didn't know—and how her body would follow suit.

Melody had stopped feeling claustrophobic, at least. She learned early on that it wouldn't change anything. The room would still be small when the panic subsided, so she learned to accept it. If it got too bad, she would climb out her window and settle on the steps of the fire escape, technically breaking curfew most times, but she refused to stop. She refused to not find peace in the open night sky when she wished to. 

She took one look at her laundry piling up in a basket in the center of the room before disregarding it. Ratchet had given her a day off tomorrow. She'd take it downstairs and fight with the other residents to use the washer and dryer then. 

Adding her scrubs and underwear for the day in the pile, she didn't bother with pajamas as she dropped into her bed, pulling the sheet around her naked body.

But though she was tired, sleep didn't come to her immediately. She was too busy going over what she had heard Megatronus and Soundwave talk about today. About Ajax.

It took her a minute to place the name, but she remembered. He was the man who'd talked with Megatronus while she'd patched him up. The one who had wanted Megatronus to throw his next match.

A match she knew full well from pit gossip that he had _not_ thrown. In fact, it had been something of an embarrassment where his opponent was concerned. The match had taken no time at all. 

Soundwave said that Ajax was becoming a problem. Or maybe something or somebody else was. She'd only caught a piece of that conversation. But Ajax was a capo himself, if she remembered right, one of the faces for the gang bosses that ran the fights. Those same bosses that Ratchet had warned her about. Megatronus was strong, sure, but surely he wouldn't pick a fight with people like them. Wouldn't be that stupid.

_Ajax already exaggerates his own importance._

Or, Melody reasoned, maybe Megatronus felt absolutely no sense of intimidation, of fear. Maybe he was just as arrogant as Soundwave claimed.

_I keep_ real _threats close to me, Soundwave._

Which didn't include Ajax, but did include Soundwave. Which made no sense to her.

Why was she even thinking about this? It didn't matter to her, didn't involve her in any way. She didn't care about Megatronus or his business.

She drew the sheet over her head, determined to sleep.

But the thoughts kept churning themselves out without her permission, and Melody spent the rest of the night tossing and turning.

* * *

"I thought I told you to get some rest."

 "I am rested. See?" She showed Ratchet her hands a day later. Not a single tremor.

 But Ratchet didn't even look at them, his glare focused on her face instead. At the shadows under her eyes.

Well, he was the one who didn't want her to wear makeup to work, so she was blameless. And her hair was pulled back, her neck free of jewelry, absolutely no perfume to speak of. There was nothing he could criticize her for. He clucked his tongue but made no further comment.

She followed him soundlessly into his medcenter, past patient charts and medical equipment spread out on various surfaces. Melody tried not to stare. It wasn't like Ratchet to be so untidy, to not have everything already accounted for on his datapad, which meant he was either really busy or really distracted.

"How long have you been down here, Boggess?"

"Call me Mel," she responded on reflex, knowing he wouldn't, knowing it got on his nerves. "And something a little over two months. Why?"

"Two months," Ratchet repeated, tapping his fingers agitatedly on a medstation. "Two measly months." He reached for his datapad and scrolled across it with surprisingly nimble fingers. "And in that time, you've been the primary physician of Spitfire, Crankjet, and Missile, have you not?"

"Yes, sir, along with assisting you with other patients when necessary." Melody fidgeted, pulling at a loose thread on her scrubs, wondering what this was about. Spitfire was… No longer with them, which meant she needed to be assigned another primary patient. This was the first time such a thing had happened to her. Perhaps all these dramatics were Ratchet's way.

Although, judging by his obvious annoyance, probably not. Something had gotten under his skin, and it wasn't even close to lunchtime yet.

"You've managed to fight infections, set bones, and stitch up major lacerations with moderate success, all while either fighting off patients or after administering anesthesia when available," he rattled off, his tone bored. "No patients dead due to malpractice but due to lack of ability to treat—"

"I did not lack the ability to save them. I lacked the means," she interrupted, a stubborn slant to her mouth. And her crossed arms. And her posture in general. She and Ratchet glared each other down, ire and defiance etched on their faces.

Ratchet humphed and pressed on. "Regardless, am I correct in saying that you have never attempted to administer more intensive treatment since you've been down here? No surgeries, blood transfusions, amputations, or the like?"

"No, sir," she said. Then amended, "I mean, you're correct, sir."

"Doctor," Ratchet corrected.

"Whatever."

A frustrated puff of air later, and Ratchet set the datapad down again, giving her his full, grumpy attention. "And am I overlooking anything else? Perhaps you're running some sort of back alley clinic somewhere? Or passing out suckers to good patients?" Ratchet's mouth twisted as if it were fighting against whatever he was about to say. "Or other favors?"

Melody almost snapped that what all the medics in the pits were doing essentially was little more than a back alley clinic, but the words died in her throat. She blinked, trying to get past how stunned she was at Ratchet's last verbal slap. "Um. _No_. To _all_ those things."

"Then would you care to explain to me," he said, his bright blue eyes hard and unflinching, "why Megatronus has requested _you_ to be his primary physician?"

Silence. And then the world titled out from under her, a rushing noise filling her ears.

"What?" It was all she could manage.

"Pay attention, slaggit," he grouched. "Megatronus wants you to be—"

"I heard what you said. There just… Has to be a mistake. It's his idea of a joke, it has to be." She inhaled a breath, calming herself. Less defensively, she said, "You said no, right?"

"Of _course_ I said no! Don't be stupid."

And that defensiveness came back full throttle. “ _Why_? You don’t think I could handle it?”

“Quite frankly,” Ratchet said, “no, I don’t.”

“But I—”

“ _Ah-baph-baph-baph-baph_!” He waved his hands, sputtering her into silence. “I don’t want to hear it. Just say, ‘Thank you, Ratchet, for looking out for me,’ and let’s leave it at that.”

Why was she arguing with him? She didn’t _want_ to be Megatronus’ personal, primary physician, didn’t even want to talk to him again, if she were being completely honest with herself. But she couldn’t keep her lips from pursing, couldn’t stop the sense of deep dissatisfaction Ratchet’s words stirred in her.

“He’s the reigning champion, right? I’m guessing that’s because he knows how to not get himself killed. Hell, some of the worst injuries I’ve had to treat have come from him, so forgive me if I’m a little confused at your doubting me. Seems to me like treating Megatronus is less work than all the others.”  

Surprisingly, Ratchet listened closely to what she had to say. Perhaps that was why his tone was so grave, so serious, when he replied. "While it's true that Megatronus knows how to dole out an injury, he knows how to take one, too. And he's constantly in the ring, far more often than those you've had to treat. Trust me when I say that you are not ready for the responsibility.”

Melody opened her mouth to argue some more. Ratchet beat her to it.

“And trust me when I say that _I’m_ not ready to force that responsibility on you." He inhaled a breath, deep but sharp. “I didn’t even want to send you to him alone that day, but medics were thin, Spitfire had to be tended to, time was against us, and even then—” Ratchet didn’t finish, his eyes dark. Melody looked away. She knew what happened next, knew that Spitfire had been beyond saving. “He’s dangerous, and I’m not just talking about his physical strength. Nearly every male in his caste possesses strength like that, but he’s something else. Something more.”

She nodded, not sure if she was relieved or not that Ratchet had sensed it, too. “I think I know what you mean. When—when I was stitching him up, I overheard him talking to Ajax, and—he wasn’t scared at all. Megatronus, I mean. And I guess it could be bravado but—but I’m _sure_ the power shifted in that room the longer they talked. And it didn’t go in Ajax’s favor.”

Rachet’s mouth was a thin, thin line. “If you understand, then do me a favor. Stay away from him.”

Melody grew up having people tell her what to do, how to dress, how to act, what to be ever since she was born. By the time she attended university, she was so sick of it she could’ve screamed, could’ve broken apart the whole crystal structure of the city just to prove that they couldn’t contain her anymore, that her caste didn’t define her anymore. That she could be what _she_ wanted, talk to _who_ she wanted, _be_ with who she wanted.

But at Ratchet’s words, that old defiance didn’t rise up at all. Instead, she found herself stilled, calmed, justified. She’d found common ground with another, found herself in total, irrevocable agreement with him.

A smile quirked her lips up, and she hoped it looked more confident than she felt, that it was devoid of its usual self-deprecating flint. “That’s the plan, Ratch.”

“ _Doctor_.”

“Whatever.”


	3. Ambush

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been going back through and reading my chapters, and since I'm publishing this more officially now and not just on tumblr, I've been doing revisions here and there.
> 
> This chapter to date, though, has the most revisions, mostly additions actually because hahaha I should probably start describing what people vaguely look like and where we are--lol what's a setting? So yeah, a bit more character description here than what's on tumblr, more world-building, more backstory, more character motivations, and just general making things sound better.
> 
> So if you've just read this chapter on tumblr, definitely give this a re-read and ignore what else is out there, and if you're brand new to the story, please enjoy.

"Missile," said Melody for the third time, " _please_ stop moving."

The man whose ribs she was currently examining stopped squirming, his lithe but toned frame hiding its own considerable power. "Your hands are cold!" He griped but set his shoulders in a determined line. He grinned suddenly, his mint green eyes twinkling. "Hey, you know what they say: cold hands—"

"Colder heart, yeah, I know," Melody finished with a pointed look at him. Missile's grin dimmed a bit, falling into a grimace of pain as she pressed down gingerly on his left side. "Well, good news, they're not broken, but this one is definitely cracked."

"Remind me how that's good news, Doc."

Her smile was grim. "Because it means you'll be on bedrest until it _mostly_ heals, but not long enough for you to miss too many fights and starve completely." _Or get replaced and tossed aside_. She didn't add that last part. They both knew what the bosses did to fighters who became too unfit to fight, whose injuries took too long to heal to be worth dealing with.

She bound him up as best she could, giving him firm instructions not to engage in any strenuous activity—"No sex," she said to his crestfallen face. "I mean it, Missile. Do not test me"—and told him on the sly that if the pain got to be too much, she'd see what she could do about securing a few coveted painkillers. No promises. She knew he would never willingly ask for them, anyway, being the stubborn ass that he was.

"Thanks, Doc," Missile said, pulling his shirt down over his head. "I owe you one." 

"Just stay alive," she said back. Down here, it meant _no problem_.

Melody snapped her kit closed and prepared to leave the east wing's medbay two, one of the smaller ones on this side of the Pits. The lights here were weaker than the others, lit only by two long florescent tubes, one on either side of the room, casting shadows in the corners of the room’s dark gray metal plating. A few berths covered in white sheets and thin pillows jutted out from the walls, and two metal benches long enough for a grown man to be laid upon were end to end in the center of the room. She’d watched Ratchet and Trell, another head medic, use them for emergency surgeries, usually because the gladiator was too injured to be safely moved, the operating theatre too far away. Gurneys and life support systems were as limited as painkillers, but their absence was perhaps more acutely felt to both fighter and medic alike.

Now, there was no desperate flurry of activity of life-saving proportions. Missile sat on one of the benches whole and examining her handiwork. A couple other gladiators lingered around the medbay, having had their own wounds tended or just talking to their peers. They seemed to hang around in the Pits during operating hours whenever they weren’t needed back at their menial jobs as laborers or miners, jobs their caste demanded of them if they hadn’t consigned to a life of fighting instead. Ratchet didn’t seem to mind them idling in the medbays, provided they weren’t in the way, so Melody didn’t shoo them out, either. If they weren’t bothering anyone or causing trouble, she didn’t see the point, and she was deeply grateful for how easy today was going so far. No need to start trouble.

The morning fights hadn’t resulted in any causalities or grisly injuries, and they usually didn’t. That level of bloodlust was reserved for the evening fights, which Cybertronians from all over the planet flocked to in droves, urging the gladiators on, enamored with warrior deaths that they would neither experience or have to deliver themselves.

Sometimes, Melody could hear the audience chanting all the way down to the central medbay, the one where she spent so much time with Ratchet. The one she’d unconsciously chosen as her sanctuary, the one that felt closest to home with its pristine white walls and muted ceramic floor tiles. But even though she’d found a place she could go to avoid the fights, she could never entirely block out the moment when a deathblow was about to be struck, the moment where the spectators were strung tightest, like a violin’s strings on the edge of snapping, their screeches high and wild and absolute. _Finish it! Kill him! Death, death, death!_

And she heard them chant names, too, usually of the gladiator who was about to grant their dearest wish.

Though Melody had not been in Kaon long, she’d heard one name chanted more than any others.

She pulled herself out of that dark memory, away from Megatronus, away from the knowledge that she would have to relive those nights at least once every week until her probation was up. Dwelling on it wouldn’t help her or make the time go any faster. As the medic shook out her thoughts, she examined the more pressing matters of the here and now. Melody needed to head to supplies and restock on more bandages, alcohol, and other essentials. Then, she needed to make her afternoon assessment with Ratchet. Routine. She liked routine. It was boring, but it was safe. Routine got her through the day. She almost made it to the entrance when a familiar taunting voice called out to her, "Hey, sweetspark, what about me?"

Ah, the cons with being the only female medic on staff. This had become routine, too. Melody cut a glare to Barricade, another gladiator, before rolling her eyes and pressing on. "There's nothing wrong with you, and no, your blue balls don't count. I suggest you find a way to fix that problem yourself."

Missile's loud laughter followed her out, swiftly followed with a thud and a high bark of pain. Melody frowned. There went all _that_ hard work.

Drawing up her datapad as she walked, she scrolled through the list of today's fights, trying to picture what the rest of her schedule would wind up being, who would get hurt, _how_ they would get hurt. She paused when she got to the final fight of the day: Megatronus versus Sunstreaker, a rival brought in from the arenas near Iacon. 

That's right, it wasn't just Kaon that hosted such violence, that lusted for it. Gladiatorial matches were being hosted all over the planet, weren't they? These bouts were supposed to be just that: fights. But to Melody, with the fever they were stirring up, they were beginning to feel like something else, something worse. Something like—

An incoming message from Ratchet interrupted her, its tagline sufficiently urgent-sounding and important. Melody rolled her eyes, raising a finger to open it. _If this is just you ordering me to get you some coffee, Ratchet, I swear_ —

Arms as strong as two bands of steel suddenly wrapped around her, drawing her back into something equally solid and unbreakable. Both her datapad and medical kit fell out of her slackened grip and crashed to the floor, and before she could react, hot air blew across her neck as slightly unhinged male giggles sounded in her ear. "Look what I caught!"

_No, not this one…_

Lugging her off her feet, her assailant spun them around, so they were facing the way she'd come. Barricade, his face dark and his form towering, was stalking toward her, his brown eyes no longer cruelly amused, just cruel.

The man who'd grabbed her laughed again. "See, boss? She's not so quick."

"Yes, Frenzy. Not so smart, either," Barricade noted, a grin on his face. His olive skin looked darker in the dim hallway, his shoulder-length black hair giving no shine. A tattoo peaked out at her on his neck, but though he prowled ever closer, she couldn’t make it out. "Did you think you could just disrespect me and walk away, sweetspark?" 

Melody's rage outweighed her fear, which is perhaps why she spat, "Disrespecting you implies that you were worthy of respect in the first place, you lowborn piece of trash!" 

Frenzy giggled again in her ear, his body pressed against her back. She felt every jarring tremor. Barricade's grin turned vicious. "So the medic bitch shows her true colors at last. Took you longer than I thought it would, I admit, to prove how much better you think you are than us." He chuckled, the sound mocking. “Poor high-class, privileged, little tramp. You should’ve never landed yourself down here.”

Melody glared at Barricade but spoke to Frenzy. "You let me go right now, and I promise we'll all walk away from this without consequences."

Frenzy shook his shaved head with frantic jerks, his chin brushing the top of her hair.

"Pretty words won't help you now," Barricade replied, almost on her. "Should have thought about being nice long before this point, actually, if you wanted to be treated nice." 

He was actually going to— Her eyes widened, the fear coming stark now. Melody was out of breath. "Come any closer, and you'll regret it. I'm a medic, Primus dammit, I have rights!"

Barricade's eyes seemed to darken with bloodlust as he intoned, "You have the right to scream."

Frenzy hauled her back off her feet again, as if presenting Barricade with a gift. His mistake, the least of which because the movement shook Melody out of whatever shock she'd been falling into.

She began to buck and writhe in Frenzy's grip, determined to break it, determined to get her feet back on the ground.

But not before she lashed out, jerking her body up and kicking her feet out towards Barricade. The movement was so sudden she barely caught the widening of his eyes before her heel connected with his face, snapping his head back. Barricade cried out in pain and staggered back, hands covering a nose that was now gushing with blood.

Satisfaction, hot and ruthless, coursed through Melody at the sight, and she hoped she'd broken it thoroughly, hoped he choked on his own blood.

The downward swing of her body jerked Frenzy forward, and Melody found her feet back on the floor again. Frenzy's arms held hers down, so her options were limited, but she had enough range to move. 

Swiftly, before he could react, her hand latched onto one of his thumbs and began to pull it in a direction it wasn't meant to go. In the same instant, she slammed the heel of her foot on his instep, a firm believer in creating opportunity. Frenzy yelped, loosening his grip on her, and tried to step back. The movement freed her arms and gave her enough room to slam her elbow into his throat. Frenzy fell to his knees and opened his mouth to inhale sharply, trying and failing to breathe. He sounded like a dying whale.

Before he could get any more bright ideas like grabbing her again, Melody lunged for her medical kit lying on the floor and swung, slamming the case into the side of his head. On impact, the kit sprung open, spilling all its contents onto the cement tiles and all over Frenzy. Everything from needles to small bottles of antiseptic clattered down. Glass shattered as a spare, unused syringe crashed to the ground. 

Melody dropped the case and spun around, putting distance between herself and Barricade, Frenzy's fallen body now between them. 

A good thing, because Barricade was making his way toward her, blood gushing, eyes murderous. "You little bitch," he snarled. "I was just going to mess with you before, but now I'm going to make you _suffer_." 

Breathing hard, with fear, with adrenaline, her body shaking with all those things but above all with _rage_ , Melody yanked a syringe free from the linings of her lab coat’s pocket, mercifully still in one piece and equipped with a very long needle. Ripping off the plastic safety cap protecting the needle, her face twisted into a snarl. She was going to put him down, and she was going to make it _hurt_.

Barricade took another step forward, eyes flickering from her face to the syringe. They darted to her face again, and froze. Jerking to a stop, the whites of his eyes clear for all to see, Barricade stood frozen with fear. Frenzy surged to his feet, no longer laughing, no longer making any kind of sound to warrant attention. His eyes were wide, too. 

At once, Frenzy broke into a full-on sprint, putting distance between himself and them. Barricade's attention snapped to him, affronted at being so thoroughly abandoned, but Barricade didn't run. He looked back at her, really looked, before taking a few retreating steps back of his own. He finally turned his back to her, but it wasn't a run so much as a brisk walk. 

One by one, Melody's muscles uncoiled, her body straightening from the slight crouch in which she stood. She released the white-knuckled grip on the syringe, felt the rush of victory buoy her into recklessness. Perhaps that was why she pulled her lips back in a cocky smirk, crowing at Barricade's back, "That's right! You _better_ run!"

"Truly, a woman after my own heart," a deep, gravelly voice rumbled from behind her, endless amusement coating his words. 

The smirk slid off her lips. The chanted words of the spectators came rushing back. She remembered Ratchet’s warnings. She remembered the name of the gladiator who had killed more opponents than any other.

Who she’d somehow gotten under the radar of, for what reasons and purposes she didn’t know, and who she was now left alone with.

A second later, she was whirling around, brandishing her syringe like a knife, intending to end the threat before there was one—

Megatronus caught her wrist with one hand—one large, strong, impossibly warm hand—with effortless skill, his crimson eyes burning, the look on his face unreadable, the emotions there coming and going too quickly. 

He twisted her wrist— _wrong way_ —and her grip broke completely. The syringe fell to the floor, not shattering on impact, but it did crack. Useless. Why the hell did the bosses insist on buying glass syringes anyway? The hysterical thought flew from her head as Megatronus kept twisting, and her body followed the movement, dropping to one knee to avoid it breaking, a yelp of pain escaping her. 

He stopped immediately but did not relinquish his hold on her.

Melody couldn't look at him, couldn't face how quickly he turned her triumph into something hollow, bringing her down so low that she was kneeling before him, the well of shame rising steadily up almost drowning her. Why had she attacked him anyway? What had she been trying to prove? 

 _You are a part of the medic branch of the science caste_ , one of her old instructor's voices drifted to her from memory _, a highly respected caste to be sure, an elite caste. But you are not the pinnacle. You are not the best, and you never will be. Accept it now. Accept that there will be people who are greater than you, better than you, and accept that it will be as effortless to them as breathing. Accept also that you will never advance, never be better than what you are now, that no matter what you achieve, you_ cannot _be any greater on your own._  

Melody knew these truths intimately, knew that was why accepting a bondmate was so important: it was the only way to rise above one's station. She knew this; even as she railed against it, she knew this.

So how was it, then, that Megatronus, a gladiator from the miner caste with a self-appointed name, made her feel so horribly inadequate, as if _she_ had been the one born, not as an elite, but as something even lower and more disreputable than himself?

Honing her gaze at the clear liquid slowly seeping out of the crack in the syringe, Melody said, "Slaggit, I needed that."

"You know," he drawled in a low growl, "this is probably around the best time for you to start screaming if I _was_ intent on hurting you."

"I wouldn't give you the satisfaction. Or Barricade for that matter." Her gaze rose back to his, defiant glare back in place. "Besides, who's going to hear me down here? This isn't a place for heroes and rescuers."

"Then what do you call what I just did for you?"

"Being a meddling busybody." She rose back to her feet. Melody knew she sounded ungrateful, but she’d learned that you couldn’t give an inch with patients, and you certainly couldn’t show weakness, not here at Kaon. People here responded best to self-assurance, a commanding presence, and shows of force. "I had it under control. Now let go of me."

A terrible smile appeared, one of challenge and something else, something promising, and he slowly pulled her closer. "Why don't you make me? Go ahead. Prove to me that you didn't need my help."

Megatronus was inviting her to fight him. The undefeated champion of Kaon was inviting _her_ to fight _him_.

Melody waited for the fear to leak back in, and it did. But anger rushed in, too, hot on its heels. Today was shaping up to be a pretty shitty day, and like hell was she going to let it continue that way.

Her lips curled back, revealing clenched teeth, and she shifted, preparing to give him exactly what he wanted in the form of her kneecap ramming into his crotch, and she'd stare him straight in the eyes while she did it.

But before she could attack, he abruptly let go of her wrist, laughter rumbling in his chest. Confusion came, briefly overtaking her anger as she massaged her now free wrist with her other hand, soothing it of its earlier pain as much as she was working to forget his touch upon it. "There it is," he said in approval. "The readiness to fight. Good to know that wasn't just a fluke. For a minute there, I thought you were going to let those two semi-intelligent lifeforms have their way with you."

"You were watching?" she said. An accusation. 

He grinned, the action all sharpness. "At the important parts." He nodded to the disarray around them, to the drops and smears of blood left behind from Barricade's broken nose, the spilled items from her medkit. _"Very_ impressive. I especially liked that jab of yours into poor Frenzy's larynx. _"_ His eyes found hers again, intense and steady. "Though for the next few days, I'll mostly be thinking about your front kick. Barricade will be, too, but I'm sure his thoughts will be far less pleasant."

Melody didn't know how to respond to that. Instead, she looked out at the mess surrounding them and nudged a bundle of bandages with her shoe, sighing. "Ratchet's going to kill me."

"Given the fool you just made out of Barricade, I highly doubt handling Ratchet will be beyond your capabilities." He crossed his muscular arms, bare from the elbow down thanks to the rolled-up sleeves of his gunmetal gray jacket. As Megatronus shifted to lean against the wall, Melody caught a sliver of the faded white t-shirt he wore underneath before she looked away. But she felt him watching as she crouched and gathered what she could to put back into her medkit. His gaze was like a weight, like a spotlight, every move she made followed and measured. She blocked it out, focusing instead on the buzz of silence around them.

Eventually, he said, "I can teach you, you know. To hone that technique of yours."

Bad idea. _Bad_ idea. "I can handle myself."

"Perhaps with other opponents, opponents who will be all too willing to underestimate you, the lone female and oh-so petite medic in the Pits of Kaon. You no longer have that edge with Barricade." 

She cast a look over her shoulder at him. "Oh, but I can handle Frenzy still, no problem?"

"Frenzy can barely string a sentence together without Barricade's permission."

She stuffed a bunch of band aids inside a pouch, pondering. "I guess you would know them best."

"But I take it your answer is still no?"

Melody had the strangest feeling that he was talking about another question now. With assurance she didn't feel, she replied, "That's right."

He was silent for a moment, and Melody couldn't read it. Was he angry? Disappointed? Utterly indifferent?

"A shame, but maybe it's for the best." He pushed off the wall, arrogant male smugness in every facet of his smirk. "I'd hate to train you, only to have my title challenged and stolen from me."

Before she could think what she was doing, she lobbed a haphazard ball of bandages at him, the mass bouncing harmlessly off his shoulder before he could dodge it completely and tumbling to the floor in a heap. She matched his teasing tone. "Where I'm sitting, no training required. Looks like the mighty Megatronus can't even evade a good, old-fashioned bandage torpedo. Imagine if I'd thrown something sharp at you instead, and meant it."

His eyes darkened, two smoldering red suns, and his grin turned feral. "Maybe you'd like to come at me with that syringe again?"

She opened her mouth, only to be interrupted by a ping from her datapad. She tugged it across the floor to her and grimaced at the cracks spider-webbing along the screen. "Yikes," she muttered, glimpsing the now five missed messages from Ratchet. "Double yikes." Melody rose to her feet, taking the kit and datapad with her, her eyes scanning the screen.

"Does Barricade need you to patch up his nose?" His voice sounded good, _dark_ , and far too close to her for her liking.

"If Barricade wants to keep said nose, then he'll know to stay far away from me right now." She stowed her datapad in her coat pocket. "I've got a new scalpel I haven't been able to test out yet." At his widening, razor-sharp smile, she felt her defenses rise again. Now that everything had subsided, now that her body realized it was out of danger, she was suddenly aware that she was _in_ danger again, and that he made her very, _very_ nervous. "What?" she asked with less bite than she wanted.

"Oh, it's nothing." He stepped closer to her, his form towering and large, so very large. How she ever found Barricade with his solid yet willowy form intimidating in comparison, she had no idea. And she knew now, despite her jibe, that Megatronus was fast, so incredibly fast. The way he'd caught her wrist, as if he'd predicted it, as if he'd been waiting for it, reading her move and being there before she'd even thought to make it. If she tried to run, he would catch her, he would—

Well, that was the thing, wasn’t it? She had no idea what he would do, what he intended for her, and that was far worse than knowing for certain.

“Look,” said Melody, trying for sincerity. “I’m sorry about attacking you. But I’d just gotten ambushed myself and—and frankly, you shouldn’t have snuck up on me.” 

There, that was probably what he was waiting for. Not her best apology, but she meant every word. Now he could leave her be, and she could go back to work.

But he didn’t respond to her with words. Instead, there was movement, slow but sure. Purposeful. His hand rose toward her face, near her hair swept back in a high ponytail. He found a loose strand by her ear that had escaped in the scuffle and began to slowly wrap it around his finger. "Apology accepted. And I’ll try to remember that for next time, though I’m usually not the sneaking type. I just wanted to see what you’d do.”

His voice was low and steady, as if he’d known she’d been ready to bolt and was taking strategic measures to prevent it. This was just like the first time. He’d gotten too close, and she’d froze, unsure about what to do about all that power, all that predator’s intelligence focused solely upon her. And now it was happening again, and she still didn’t know what to do except to weather it.

Megatronus smiled then, and just like last time she could feel it, not against her skin, but deeper. In her bones, her very blood. She saw his smile fully, and it made her utterly aware of him, of the rough, carnal, brutal nature he’d been forged with, a storm trapped beneath calloused skin.

“You didn’t disappoint me,” he said in that still low voice, like he was confessing something personal only to her. “It looks like I was right about you, my little troublemaker."

Her face felt hot. No, her entire body felt hot as she looked at him, as she felt the faint ministrations of his fingers against her hair. "They started it."

She wasn't entirely talking about Barricade or Frenzy.

"Of that I have no doubt," Megatronus replied then released her.

Whatever hold he'd had on her vanished. She stepped back from him, fishing the datapad from her pocket again just to make it look natural and not like the retreat it was. Just to look busy and preoccupied. The medic she was clinically remembered that she was supposed to be staying away from him, that she _wanted_ to stay away. She shoved away his too-familiar touches, the teasing, the entreating smiles. It’s not like he actually meant anything by them aside from tending to his own amusement. "Well, this was fun, but I need to get going. People to save, wounds to manage, you know."

He laughed, brief and sarcastic. "I would have thought someone from Crystal City would have better manners."

Her attention swung back to him like it was on a hinge. _"What?"_  

He folded his hands behind his back, looking deceptively magnanimous. "Not a single thank you for saving your life? _And_ you tried to”—his eyes darted to the liquid from the syringe still spilled onto the floor—“put me to sleep, I’m guessing. I'm starting to feel unappreciated." 

Megatronus was still teasing her, and she’d had enough of feeling like a joke she wasn’t getting. "I said I was sorry. But sure, yeah, thank you—for interfering and ending the fight before _I_ had to." She cut a glance at him, noting the hard mass of his body, the sheer presence he exuded, and finding that he was doing the same. Taking her in, examining her with far too intelligent eyes, a dangerous smile on his face. Belatedly, she said in an attempt to change the subject and end the conversation, "Good luck on your match today."

He snorted. "All this between us, and you're going to insult me now?"

 _All_ what _between us_? she wanted to ask. But she didn’t. _Stay away, stay away._ She turned toward him and said blandly, "Fine. Then on second thought, I hope you get scrapped."

"And here I was, thinking I’d dedicate my next victory to you."

 _What does that mean_? "Don't bother with _any_ of them. I don't watch the fights anyway."

"You don't?" His brow rose in surprise, the words almost disbelieving. "And why not?" 

"What interest would I have in watching a bunch of brutes tear each other apart?"

"Besides the thrill, you mean?" He grinned suggestively. "But no, I think you're right. I think your particular interest wouldn't be in the fights themselves, but in what happens after." 

 _In what happens after_? He had to mean the cleanup. But why did she have the feeling that he hadn't meant that at all? "I'll have to take your word for it, unless I pop over and see the end of Crankjet's match right fast."

"I wouldn’t waste my time, if I were you. The others’ matches don't matter. Just mine."

She lifted a brow at him. "I see what Soundwave was saying about that arrogance of yours now."

He regarded her closely, his smile faint. "So you did hear us. What an excellent spy you make." 

“I wasn’t—”

Her datapad pinged her again, an emergency. Melody took in everything in seconds: Crankjet, torn ligament, left leg, immediate surgery and pain meds required. "Never mind. Match over. Gotta go." Her eyes darted to him a final time and she was off. "Bye, Megatronus."

"See you around, troublemaker," he called after her playfully.

She arrived at medstation three near the north side of the Pits to find Crankjet laid up on the berth, moaning in agony. Ratchet was standing over him, barking orders at the various hands around them. No time to get to the operating theatre; they had to act quickly. Her mouth and nose covered with a surgical mask, hands snug in latex gloves, Melody rushed to his side. "Sorry I'm—" 

"Save it," Ratchet snapped, his glare not directed at her so much as the situation. "And pay attention, because you're taking over this surgery when I'm feeling confident enough about it. Which, by the way, will be long before _you_ feel comfortable about doing it, so get ready."

Melody's mouth went slightly dry, but she nodded. "Fine with me. Now show me what to do."

Hours later, Melody slumped into her apartment exhausted. She'd almost missed curfew again, enduring another lecture from the doorman or guard or whatever he was, which she only half heard.

Crankjet's surgery had been successful, the graft nicely inserted thanks to Ratchet's expertise. But his arena career was probably over. He was going to take too long to recover, and Ratchet had forbidden him from fighting again until his recovery time was complete. Even in the Pits, a medic's word was law, that is unless someone more powerful cared too much about the placement of a certain fighter, the outcome of a certain match. No one cared enough about Crankjet like that, which meant it was all over for him, which meant—

 _It's not your problem_ , she reminded herself. _No one has been forcing them into these fights. They've all chosen it, for the brief glory that it is._

Still, she found herself reaching for her datapad, looking for the outcome of a certain match later that day.

Naturally, Megatronus came out the victor.

Sunstreaker's injuries had been various, the combatant barely conscious as medics lifted his body and wheeled him from the arena, intent on taking him back to Iacon. Melody read the report with a clinical eye but froze when she got to two injuries in particular, sequential from each other: a broken nose and a crushed windpipe.

She didn't look at her datapad for the rest of the night after that.


	4. Gate Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, here we are. The beginning of the new chapters that aren't on tumblr. I'm still trying to get as much inspiration from Transformers media in general when it comes to characterizations, past histories, and in-canon relationships between Cybertronians. But I can't stress enough that I've only watched Transformers: Prime and read the Exodus novel. Oh, and the Michael Bay films, but I don't count much from that, honestly. So if the wikis don't have the answers I need, that means I'm making it all up. Hopefully, y'all will like what I come up with.
> 
> For certain characters' human forms, I do have some inspiration for what some of them look like, mostly thanks to if I've seen a fan art that resonated with me. Others, like Barricade's, I'm completely making up. So if at any point you want to see what I see when I look at these characters, just let me know and I'll share what I have. I'm also completely fine if you disregard my imagery for them entirely and go with your own because I think we all have our headcanons for that kind of thing. And of course, any suggestions are helpful as I am working to include greater representation from race to gender to sexual orientation in my works. Transformers, especially, needs the help.

Megatronus knew a potential asset when he saw one.

The only hitch was that it was Barricade. Looking at the man now, who was staring defiantly, defensively, almost petulantly back at him, his shoulders set in a line that said he was ready for whatever Megatronus threw at him, Megatronus very much wanted to give him his wish. Wanted Barricade to experience the full force of his rage. 

But it was also that very attitude that stayed Megatronus' hand.

"She's just a bitch," Barricade snarled, eyes glinting with challenge. Flecks of dried blood were still smeared around his nostrils and across his upper lip, his nose bent at a jagged angle. "A bitch who thinks she was born better than us." 

"Maybe," Megatronus replied, his jaw clenched in a tight, tight smile. A shark about to bite. "But attempting to rape her doesn't exactly send the right message. It doesn't prove her wrong."

"I wasn't going to _rape_ her," Barricade said, his lip curling, as if the thought of _her_ touching _him_ disgusted him. "I was just going to scare her."

“And that might have worked, if you’d bothered to study your target. Figure out what truly scares her.”

“That’s what _you’ve_ been doing, I take it?” Sarcasm dripped with every word.

“Starting to, and I can tell you that woman’s been fighting a quiet war all her life, and has never been able to take a swing at anyone who deserved it before.” Megatronus smirked. “You gave her a wonderful opportunity.” 

Barricade sneered and began to shift his weight from foot to foot, restless. “Bullscrap. What the slag has that elite little princess had to fight for in her entire life? To have fluffier pillows or five-star meals every night? To attend a more prestigious school? A wider selection of rich bondmates? Oh, _boo-hoo_ , what a hard life it’s been!" He unconsciously tugged at a bandage wrapped around his left bicep, hiding an older wound. "I'd like to see how long she'd last in the forges with that pretty, unbroken skin. Do you think she'd cry first from the sweltering heat slowly baking her lungs or the burns?” Barricade's sadism accumulated in a nasty laugh. "Primus, I'd pay to see that, pay to look that bitch in the eye and watch her realize she hasn't suffered as I have, not the merest sliver." 

Megatronus humored him with a soft laugh. “Oh, certainly no one has suffered more in this life than you, Barricade. Perhaps that’s why you don’t notice that discontent festers on both sides of—”

_“Don’t,_ ” Barricade growled. “Don’t act like you sympathize, as if you don't hate them, too.”

Megatronus sized Barricade up, his viciousness, his anger, all of it so familiar to Megatronus it was like staring into an unrefined reflection of spider-webbed glass. 

In a movement almost too fast to follow, Megatronus punched Barricade right on his nose. It had yet to be tended due to Ratchet's orders, remaining broken. Now it wasn't. Barricade yowled, his knees buckling as he fell back against the wall, blood gushing into his hands again. But he stayed standing, his eyes watering but showing little discomfort beyond that. Megatronus was impressed. 

"Now that _that's_ dealt with," Megatronus said, "perhaps now we can put your…talents to better use elsewhere."

"What are you talking about?" snapped Barricade. “I don’t fragging care who you think you are or what you want, Megatronus. I’m going to rip you apart for that!” 

"Come now, Barricade. Though you have a penchant for dramatics, you also strike me as being much smarter than the company you keep." Megatronus began pacing but kept his focus on the other fighter. "You’re right. I do hate them, but I’m not just wallowing in my hate; I’m doing something about it. What are you doing, other than complaining? I can see you don't like being stuck down here, the worst of the worst, the dregs of society, any more than I do. Is this all you're going to be? Just a dog for the gangsters, a guilty pleasure for the elites? Don't you want to dismantle the system that's put you in this place, that's kept you imprisoned here, no better than a slave?”

Barricade’s eyes narrowed, the brown appearing closer to being pools of black while they were tinged with pain. But they were also bright, assessing. He was listening, attacking now a step farther away in his mind.

Megatronus smiled inwardly. “Don't you want to take the fight to the heart of the problem—or are you satisfied with terrorizing elite female medics who barely come up to your chest? Fighting against nothing but your own inevitability until _I_ decide to kill you?"

The Champion of Kaon stopped right in front of Barricade, his eyes blazing with lethal intent. He meant every impassioned word, and Barricade stared back at him with wide-eyes, affected.

Barricade seemed to remember where they were, his gaze flicking around, looking for an advantage he wouldn’t find. A small locker room, the scant number of lockers devoid of locks because their possessions meant little. Bits of arena armor were left behind on the ground for scrap, meant to be refashioned for use in ways the dead bodies of the gladiators would not. The gladiators wouldn’t even be buried, even if a loved one stepped forward to claim them. The crematorium was easier, cheaper, better than their status deserved, and sometimes they wouldn’t even warrant that small effort.

No weapons were in sight, kept under lock and constant guard by the capos and their hired guns. There were no other sounds, no other disturbances aside from the two gladiators’ low conversation. The arena after hours. Barricade and Megatronus alone, with no one to interfere should this confrontation go south, should one decide to kill the other and dump their body somewhere no one would ever find it. Megatronus saw the exact moment Barricade realized it would be him who’d be left for dead, the alarm glazing his eyes. But soon, Barricade's brief vulnerability vanished, his fear hidden behind that same grim defiance, that still simmering bloodlust. But perhaps it was something else, a need for change, for action. 

Or perhaps for answers, for a way to turn the odds in his favor. He asked, "What _is_ she to you, anyway?"

"A guilty pleasure," Megatronus responded easily. "So what'll it be, Barricade? A brutal death down here, in the darkness, or a meaningful death somewhere out there, in the light?"

Barricade stared at him, silent, measuring.

Megatronus waited for his answer.

* * *

"So were you ever going to _bother_ telling me about Barricade, or did you honestly think that I wouldn't find out?"

Ratchet's normally pale skin was suffused with red blotches on his cheeks as he glared down at Melody, waiting for an explanation. If it wouldn't get her in even more trouble, Melody would have sighed. Not even a full twenty-four hours had passed since her skirmish with Barricade, and Ratchet was already fully aware of it and on her case.

Never let it be said, though, that Ratchet was a boss who didn't care.

Trell and Skid, the former a senior medic while the latter was a junior medic like herself, exchanged consternated glances and then promptly left the mess table. Ratchet took their seats as Melody stared after them, her food all but forgotten. Each of them were a head taller than Ratchet, over a foot taller than her, and they couldn’t wait to get clear of the knife fight this conversation was about to be. Spineless cowards, but smart. "How _did_ you find out?" 

"I had to hear it from _Lugnut_ of all people, who seems convinced that you tried to castrate Barricade with a rusty scalpel." Ratchet placed an arm against the table, leaning in, which would have seemed conspiratorial if he weren't close to yelling at her. "And that was _before_ I talked to Missile, Winder, and Makeshift—who all had their own accounts, of course—and pieced the truth together." 

“Nothing out of Frenzy?”

“He tried to claim he wasn’t there. I knew better, of course.”

Melody still didn’t look at the head medic but at her food, a modest congregation of berries, yogurt, and a sandwich thanks to her meager wages. If she were working the same job in Crystal City, she’d be easily making three times her current salary. At least Kaon’s shipment of berries was sweet; their taste helped stave off the bitterness of that thought. 

Aloud, Melody casually quipped, "I never want to hear again that women are such vapid gossipers. You men are way worse." 

Ratchet's fist banged on the table. "Get serious! You just picked a fight with Barricade of all people. Didn't I tell you to _keep out_ of trouble?" 

"You did, but I can't change what happened." Her gaze on him was unforgiving. "I didn't tell him to attack me. He chose to, Ratchet."

"I know that," Ratchet snapped. "I'm not blaming you for his actions, even though I know you provoked him."

"He started it."

"And rumor has it he's determined to finish it."

She granted him a humorless smile. "I didn't think he'd be so eager for round two."

"You broke his nose. Humiliated him. He took it kind of personally." Ratchet's voice was stern, but he was also fighting off his own smile. Which made him frown all the more. But Melody had seen it, that faint flicker at the edge of his mouth. He may not have liked how events had gone, but in a roundabout way, he was proud of her.

"I'll be fine. Maybe I'll castrate him with a rusty scalpel after all. Who knew someone as dense as Lugnut could be so inspiring?" Melody cracked a real smile at Ratchet, who decidedly did not return it this time. Hers fell quickly. "You know, I don't see you hovering over the others this way."

"The others didn't come from Crystal City. The others don't have a whole bright future ahead of them in the upper castes, provided they don't screw up here. You do. I'm just trying to keep you in perspective.” His gaze dropped to the floor, seeing but not seeing the cold concrete tiles. “It's an easy thing to lose sight of down here."

"Appreciated, but I don't need a keeper. A mentor, fine, but not a keeper." She eyed him sidelong and added, "Or a helicopter parent." 

Ratchet heaved a breath, tired of arguing with her. "I heard Megatronus was there, as a witness."

"So was Frenzy—he was a participant, actually—but you don't seem too concerned about that."

He waved a hand. "Once he stopped giggling denials, we dealt with him. He won’t be seen in the Pits for a while. Barricade’s been dealt with too, for that matter, but he got a wrist slap for all the discipline that was done. Still, Megatronus is by far the bigger threat."

"Well, he wasn't the one who attacked me. I think he would have stepped in if anything got too serious.” Melody tapped the prongs of her fork against her fruit bowl, her brow furrowed. “He did, actually." 

"That doesn't comfort me like you intended it to."

"I'm just telling you what happened." 

Awkward silence settled between them. Ratchet tapped his fingers against the table. "Well? Did he say anything to you?"

"Megatronus? He said a great many things, none of which I care to recall, so—" 

"Unbelievable."

"What's—"

Ratchet's wristcomm pinged before she could finish. Both their gazes flew to it, Ratchet's troubled. He tapped it once and spoke into it. "This is Ratchet. What's your status, Hertz?"

Static cracked from the comm as general chaos and commotion filtered through. A male voice, younger than Ratchet's, winded, and close to panic, said, "We gotta problem over here. Mass brawl, Gate Five. We need some help!"

"For the love of—" Ratchet rolled his eyes, but his shoulders were tense. "Can’t these idiots save it for the arena? Alright, Hertz, try and keep it contained. I'm on my way with a few others." 

Skid and Trell lingered near the entryway of the breakroom, chatting and definitely _not_ listening in on their conversation. Both snapped to attention as Ratchet caught their eyes and motioned for them to follow. When Melody rose to do the same, he jabbed a finger at her to sit back down. "Don't you think you've been in enough fights lately?"

Melody glared at Ratchet's back as he hurried off. With a clenched jaw, she followed him anyway.

Gate Five was one of thirteen gates where gladiators could enter into the arena. Each of them were kept closed and locked shut until the fights started, but due to their spacious layouts, they also served as popular hangout spots for all who served in the Pits. As a result, this wasn't the first fight to ever occur outside them, but it was certainly the first that Melody had ever seen since she’d come to Kaon.

She’d heard the cacophony of movement and shouts echoing to her through the tunnel well before she saw it, but the actual scene brought her to an abrupt halt as she took everything in. Medics and fighters were scattered throughout the square-shaped room, Ratchet and the others attempting to break up smaller fights in order to prevent a large one from forming again. Hardshell, Sharpshot, and Kickback—collectively known as the Insecticon gang—moved to attack Ratchet as one but were quickly felled as the head medic jabbed them in a few choice pressure points, Hertz moving to catch their bodies, his ginger hair an obvious marker as the curly mass bobbed to and fro. But Hertz missed Sharpshot as he fell and winced as the fighter hit the floor hard.

Right in front of Melody, Missile and Lugnut grappled, Lugnut losing his balance and falling to the floor with Missile on top of him, a starved wolf leaping upon a grizzly bear. As Missile wailed on him, slinging his fist back, Melody dropped her medkit, darted forward, and kicked Missile in the side, right where she knew his cracked rib was. It was more of a nudge than a kick, but it was more than effective. Missile screamed and tilted off balance. She grabbed him and managed to draw him away from Lugnut, whose only injury despite the punishment he took was a nasty gash on his bottom lip. 

Missile began to fight back, until she shoved him against the wall and he saw who he was dealing with. At the sight of her furious face, Missile paled slightly and flinched at the finger she jabbed in his face. "I thought I told you, Missile. _No fucking strenuous activity!_ So what do you call this?"

"Well," he half-laughed, half-grimaced, "it's _not_ sex."

"Get Lugnut up and get him against the wall before I kick you again," she snarled. "And no more fighting!"

"Yes, ma'am," Missile replied, thoroughly chastised. He moved to do as she said. Melody knew she’d lucked out with getting assigned one of the more well-behaved fighters who was in his twenties like her and would actually mind her orders, but she still watched him closely. She waited long enough to make sure that no more punches were thrown before she dove back into the fray.

She saw a flash of dark hair and crimson eyes watching on the outskirts of the fight, but she forgot it as she dodged a stray punch from Blackout, a heavily-scarred, dark-skinned gladiator. Her speed her only asset—and the fact that he was distracted by the shifter, appropriately known as Makeshift—Melody quickly jabbed a syringe into Blackout's neck. A moment later, he fell to the ground, unconscious.

Not expecting it, Makeshift's next punch went too far, hitting only air and making him off-balance.  Melody tackled him low against his knees. As one mass, they crashed to the cement floor, and she quickly situating her body so that she pinned him with her full weight, her knees digging into his back and his arms trapped underneath him. He tried to wiggle them free and throw her off, but she grabbed a fistful of his hair and pushed the side of his face _down_ into the flooring.

"Stop moving, or you'll end up like Blackout. I'm not playing with you today, Makeshift."

One eye on her—green today—he glared but slowly relented on his rage and his fight. All around them, the other gladiators were doing the same, some rendered immobile by medics—Skid had a black eye forming, but the others looked more or less unharmed—while others finally backed off from the fight. Barricade, Melody noticed, was one of the ones backing off. Her eyes stayed with him as Makeshift murmured underneath her, "Have it your way, medic."

"Are you hurt?" She was obligated to ask, but she was already assessing him with a sharp gaze. Most gladiators tended to lie about the severity of injuries that weren’t obvious. 

He groaned. "Just my pride."

"So no different from usual, then, I take it," came Megatronus' taunt from the sidelines. Melody found him moving closer, his hands clasped behind his back as his eyes seared down Melody's body, stopping where she straddled Makeshift and kept him pinned. A slow, suggestive smile curled Megatronus' lips, revealing sharp, white teeth. "Though I have to admit, I'm somewhat envious of your predicament, Makeshift."

Melody felt Makeshift tense beneath her. "He talks a lot of shit. Don't let him get to you," she muttered before letting him up. Megatronus' grin broadened as she watched him warily back. Makeshift wiped a hand down his face, quitting the situation altogether.

"Keep moving, Megatronus," Ratchet snapped from his crouched position over the unconscious Blackout. "Don't think I don't know who started this fight." 

"You wound me, Ratchet. Barricade and I were just passing through."

"A likely story," the head medic scoffed, but his attention was hard on Barricade, who stood behind and to the left of Megatronus. Ratchet's eyes flicked to Melody, but he hid his concern with a quick glare and barked orders at the other two. "Keep moving. We need to treat the wounded, and seeing as how your nose is now fixed, Barricade, that excludes _both_ of you."

"Quite the contrary, Ratchet," Megatronus said, finally unclasping his hands and bringing them forward. The knuckles of his right hand were split open and bloodied, and Melody zeroed in on them with singular intent. "It seems I do require aid after all."

Ratchet let out a noise of disgust. "I know damn well you don’t—"

"Fine," Melody interrupted, tired of it all, "I'll do it." She moved to retrieve her medkit near the entrance.

"Mel—"

"You're busy, I'm not. It’s procedure, and it won’t take long."

Medkit in hand, she approached Megatronus—and Barricade, who was still lurking there. 

"We going to have a problem?" she said to Barricade. The man bared his teeth but said nothing as he exchanged a glance with Megatronus and stalked away. Her eyes trailed him as she led the Champion of Kaon to an unoccupied bench off to the side. Taking a seat, Megatronus spoke quietly enough for only the two of them to hear, "Barricade's a smart man. He and I have reached an understanding concerning you."

Rifling through her kit, Melody responded with a searching look and matched his low tone. "What sort of understanding?"

"One that involves him leaving you alone. No more reason to settle scores," he responded. "You're welcome."

It was the intentional way he said those last words, like he already expected her sincere and ready gratitude, that made her notice it. Sitting down like this, Megatronus actually had to look up at her for once, though not by much. But no shift in power had occurred between them, something Melody didn't realize she'd been expecting to happen until it didn't. To him, the scant few inches she had on him didn't seem to matter at all.

"I don't need your protection," she countered him, dabbing water on a clean cloth.

"But maybe some part of you wants it?" his voice rumbled, far too arrogant. Far too sure. "Maybe some part of you wants to be taken care of?"

"You're the one sitting here, moaning about a little cut on your hand, Megatronus." 

To back up her point, she extended her hand, waiting for him to offer his own. Holding her gaze, he did so, and though she expected his hand to dwarf hers, she hadn't accounted for the feel of it. The roughness of his skin, the warmth of his fingers, the sheer power they held, but kept in check. Melody focused on cleaning away the blood, but Megatronus was impossible to ignore completely, especially not when his breath brushed against her neck.

"I don't moan, medic, but perhaps one day, you'll discover that for yourself." 

Knowing that Ratchet was surreptitiously watching them from across the room, knowing that Megatronus was playing with her, and being tired of feeling intimidated, Melody raised her head from her work and asked archly, "How would I ever discover such a thing, gladiator?"

Megatronus' sunburst gaze became molten, falling to her lips. "By getting yourself into more trouble, which you seem so determined to do."

She grabbed the antiseptic and poured the liquid on the cuts, trying for dispassion. "I think I'll pass, then. Ratchet's mad enough at me as it is."

"With how you handled Missile, Blackout, _and_ Makeshift, I'd have thought he'd be grateful to have you."

"He is. And of course you saw all of that." Melody spoke to his widening grin. " _Do_ you know who started the fight?"

His smirk was maddening, and his words damning. "I'm not sure you're ready for this conversation." 

She wrapped a small bandage around his hand, the action more routine than needed. With the amount of calluses on his knuckles already, she knew this type of injury was nothing new to him. Which just annoyed her more. "Cut the crap and answer my question."

"What's wrong, Melody? Is this too much ‘shit-talking’ for you?" She'd scarcely gotten past the sound of her name from his lips again when his mouth was suddenly by her ear. "Come watch my next match, and I promise I'll tell you."

Repressing a shudder, she managed to say, "Can’t. I’m busy." Her work done, she let go of his hand.

He captured it again with his own. “And masterful at evasion, I see. But I know you’ll come eventually, either through curiosity or need. I’ll just have to remember to be patient." 

Melody had a feeling that patience wasn’t one of his strong suits. She glared at her hand still trapped in his, wondering what the hell it was still doing there. “That over-confidence of yours isn’t as attractive as you think it is.” 

The gladiator laughed softly, the sound low in his throat. “The first I’m hearing of it from a female, but no matter. I haven’t survived this long without knowing when to switch tactics.”

Her blue eyes snapped up to his crimson ones in alarm, and she could only watch as Megatronus brought her hand up, his lips ghosting across her knuckles in the barest touch. More a caress than a kiss. "Thank you, my little healer. I still owe you from when you tended my shoulder and neck, don’t I?" He sent her a slow smile. “Any requests?”

"No," she said, extracting herself from him and stepping back, utterly shaken. Out of her depth. “Honestly, forget about it. I was just doing my job. No more, no less.”

He let her go, his mouth in a slant. He seemed almost disappointed. "Ah, the skittish lamb is back again. Tell me: what do I have to do to draw that purring minx back out?"

Melody crossed her arms and stood her ground. To hell with this game he was playing. She wanted answers, and she was determined to get at least one for her trouble. "Why did you ask Ratchet to make me your primary physician?"

Megatronus' half-lidded gaze was one of approval. "So enough needling and it's the cunning viper who returns instead. Promising."

"Just answer the question."

"Why, indeed. I can tell this knowledge has been bothering you."

"It just doesn't make sense to me why you would trust your life to someone with less experience." 

"Perhaps those clever hands of yours aren't why I want you close to me.” His eyes flicked to her hands before returning her gaze, his cocky grin making him seem wild and inviting. “Though, I certainly wouldn't object to you continuing to use them."

Fine, so Megatronus was shaping up to be a shameless flirt. It was only dangerous if she took it seriously. Fortunately, she had dangerous material of her own. "I thought you only keep threats close to you." 

With a glint in his eyes, his grin became knowing. "That's right. I do."

So that _did_ include Soundwave. And now her?

Shaking her head, focusing, she replied, “Then why—”

“Well, now,” a new voice rang out from the entrance of Gate Five. It was greasy, sliding, and creepily familiar, as if by venturing near the topic, she’d summoned it. “What’s happened here?” 

Surveying the scene with a critical eye and sneering with displeasure, Ajax stood with his hands in his pockets, flanked by two enforcers. Both of them were nondescript, almost twin-like in looks and general blandness, but one thing stuck out to Melody. Beneath their dark suit jackets, they wore gun holsters, two blasters each, but Ajax appeared unarmed. Melody knew the appearance was deceptive, that the simple suit he wore, fraying in a few seams along the edges, was meant to lull you into a false sense of security. Ajax, she knew now, was a capo. No capo walked the streets or the Pits unarmed, no matter how many guys he brought with him.

“Slagging maggots, all of you.” Ajax spat on the floor, fixing the room with a bloodshot glare. He stalked forward, and his goons followed him. “After everything we do for you, all the trouble we go to, and this is how you repay us? Is the arena not good enough for you? Is this truly all you want to do, to fight and frag?”

Across the room, Skid’s normally tawny beige skin, rich as shining desert sand at mid-day, was almost colorless, the purple bruise on his right eye stark and ugly. And Trell, for all the hard muscles beneath his smooth, raw umber skin, had his eyes fixed on the ground. Next to Megatronus, Melody was barely aware of the gladiator leaning forward in his seat, his arms tense as his hands gripped the bench. Her attention was on Ratchet, still crouched over Blackout, and it was to these two that Ajax approached and stopped. 

Medic and capo stared at each other. Then Ajax lashed out, stomping Blackout on his chest. “Get the wretch up, medic! Or were you not aware he has a match scheduled in an hour?”

Ratchet surged forward, coming to stand between them. “He’s heavily sedated, Ajax! For several hours at least. Abusing him isn’t going to make him fit to fight. You’re wasting your time.”

“So what do you suggest, _Ratchet_?” The capo spat out his name like a curse. 

“Reschedule the match. Replace it with—” Ratchet looked around, gesturing a hand. “Whoever wasn’t here. Whoever’s not unconscious.”

“And lose all that money? How are we supposed to get that back? People came here for Blackout; do you honestly _think_ they’ll be satisfied with some half-assed sideshow that’s obviously been thrown together? Do you have any _idea_ what that’ll do to Kaon’s reputation?” Ajax leaned forward and hissed in Ratchet’s face, though his words were more than audible to everyone around. “I warned you the last time this happened. I warned you to prevent it, to _handle_ it. We give you medics the run of the place, and _this_ is all you can manage? Head physician or no, I say you’ve overstayed your welcome.”

Melody watched in disjointed, disbelieving slow motion as Ajax drew the blaster she knew he had hidden and rested it right against Ratchet’s temple. The medic didn’t even flinch but stood with his back straight, gaze hard on Ajax’s own. Utterly defiant and unafraid.

“Make a gladiator unfit to fight when we need him, and we’ll take away the medic who made the call.” Ajax smiled, and it was uglier than Barricade’s had ever been. “Seems fair to me.” 

Ajax’s finger tightened on the trigger, and Melody moved. 

“Then I guess you’re pointing that at the wrong person.”


	5. Lies and Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was supposed to be up three weeks ago (it's been finished for a good bit), but I went up to NY for a weekend for the Kingdom Hearts Orchestra World Tour concert, caught a cold, was pretty sick for a week, and then went on vacation. Such is life, but I am sorry for the wait. To make up for it, here's an extra long chapter! Hope you enjoy~
> 
> Also, thanks to everyone so far who has reviewed or left kudos. Y'all are sweet.

Melody had a good idea of where her talents lied, and none of them involved improvisation. Throw in an enraged, power-tripping gangster waving a blaster around, and she was starting to wonder if, by drawing his attention directly to her, she'd lost her mind.

But the challenge was out there. She couldn't take back the words even if she wanted to, and the entire room knew it. Ratchet's eyes were on her, wide and no longer hiding his panic. Their gazes held, and both realized at once that there was nothing he could do, not without making the situation worse. The remaining fighters had shifted away from her, as if she were carrying a contagious disease. Only Megatronus remained still, his presence behind her and his obvious strength the only things keeping Melody outwardly calm. _He's stood up to Ajax before and survived. Now it's my turn._ But inside, her heart pounded a rhythm like a darting rabbit trying to find shelter.

Ajax slowly pulled his blaster away from Ratchet, his eyes locked onto her. Every movement reminded her of a snake contracting, not to back off from the fight, but to redirect itself to strike at another target. Even his stride toward her, the slow tilt of his head, was serpentine in nature, like he was sizing her up to see how much of her he could devour in one go. 

" _You_?" She expected him to hiss, but instead the word flew at her, strong and sure like a punch she was unable to dodge.

If there was one thing she was glad that her caste had taught her, it was how to look and act imperious. Jaw clenched, she crossed her arms and raised an eyebrow as if to say, "Yes, me. What of it?"

Not expecting her reaction, Ajax's steps faltered but he recovered quickly. He kept his blaster rested by his side as he leaned over her, sneering in her face, "You're going to cost me a lot of money, you stupid bitch."

Melody would've preferred the blaster instead of his sour breath by this point. The musk of his cologne couldn't hide the stench of vinegar. Her eyes narrowed and her smile was saccharine as she said, "Not as much as you would've lost if I'd chosen to drop Makeshift instead. He has a double match this evening, doesn't he?"

She tapped her bottom lip thoughtfully, noting the gears that started to slowly turn in his brain. "Whether it was the sedative's doing or Blackout's brand of punishment, I doubt he would've been fit to fight by then, and there are members of the upper echelon from Vos expected to be in attendance for _his_ matches. After all, he's fighting a few of their own. And who is expected to appear for Blackout's match today expect the usual, local rabble? Hmm, no one comes to mind. Besides, do you really think the audience will care about who's fighting over the chance to see bloodshed? You'll still make plenty of money besides." Melody looked straight at Ajax then, smirking. "No one's ever accused me of being stupid before. Now you know why."

It was the wrong thing to say.

Ajax's hand shot out and fisted the front of her scrubs, dragging her toward him. All those self-defense lessons she'd been required to take for her Medic tract came flooding back to her. Melody's hand automatically went for his wrist to twist it off of her—perhaps even break it—but she stopped before either happened. The cool barrel of Ajax's blaster brushed against her temple, and she went very still, all thought evaporating into cold shock.

Because in all those lessons, never once had her instructors ever used real, loaded blasters. The weight of the metal against her skin was jarring, a lightning bolt striking a lone bit of refuge in an empty field, decimating it, leaving her without any protection. 

Ratchet started forward, his hand raised. "Now, Ajax—"

"Unless you want to see the inside of her pretty head, medic, _shut up_." 

_Yes, Ratchet, shut up,_ she pleaded while she and the gangster stared each other down. From the corner of her eye, she saw Ratchet slowly, slowly lower his hand. Backing down.

"I don't appreciate smart-mouthed broads," Ajax finally said. "They're more trouble than they're worth."

"Then you really won't like it," she remarked with a casual air she didn't feel, "when the High Council orders a full-scale investigation of Kaon's operations should you decide to kill me." Smiling grimly, she added, "And then your boss definitely won't like _you_."

His face twisting in agitation, he shook her slightly. "What the hell do you—"

Ajax stopped, his murky eyes flashing toward the chest pocket of her scrubs. He released her only to snatch the ID she had clipped to it. His face fell slightly as he took in her caste—only to flush again with a smirk as he read her status beside it.

"Put on probation, eh? That's practically exile!" He laughed to himself. "Too bad no one in your fancy caste taught you how to bluff, sweetspark.” He moved suddenly, pushing the blaster barrel under her chin, tilting her head back. If he pulled the trigger, the bolt would go straight through her jaw into her brain. "And I _hate_ people who try to lie to me.” 

Her mouth was moving before she realized, every movement bringing that cruel weapon into harsher contact with her skin.

"While it's true they're unhappy with me, do you honestly think you can just quietly murder me and walk away scot-free? My father will raise such unholy hell that shutting this place down will be the very least thing that happens." A half-truth. Her father would undoubtedly raise hell but whether the High Council elected to act would probably depend on their mood that day—or the amount of money in their pockets. But if she was going to keep bluffing, she might as well go big for the effort, mixing lies with truth, and test Ajax’s confidence in telling the difference. "For your part, if you don’t make a miraculous escape, and if your boss doesn’t give you up as a scapegoat, I'd give it a week before you're executed— _if_ you don't get volunteered for experimentation and research."

She felt Ajax falter slightly—the slight drawback of pressure from the blaster against her told her so—but he soon gathered his courage again, his eyes drilling into hers as he searched for her fear, her lies. "Am I supposed to be scared of your rich daddy, bitch?"

To everyone's surprise, including her own, Melody found herself laughing. "Heavens, no. Dad's bark is far worse than his bite, but it's enough to make the others jump into action. No, the one you should be terrified of is my mother. After all, they don't call her the Red Death for nothing."

Before she'd finished talking, Ajax stumbled back, his eyes wide, taking his blaster with him. Whispers and awed conversations broke out around them, mostly between the medics as they talked to each other or answered a gladiator's questioning glance.

"The Red Death? _The_ Red Death? That's _her_ daughter? Primus, I didn't—"

"—Plague-Maker, the Death Bringer, they say she wiped out an entire—"

"—no idea she’d had a kid. I thought she was dead," Skid muttered to Trell.

Trell shook his head. "No, the government still employs her from time to time, to dissuade dissidents they say, but of course our illustrious leaders deny anything about that." 

"Mom still does hospital work, on record," Melody declared to the room, her voice raised only slightly to be heard. The chattering stopped at once. "And she's a blonde now."

She stepped up to Ajax and began straightening up his jacket, his tie. The man flinched back but held his ground. Melody didn't think he was breathing. "She gives a speech every now and then to the universities, attends the pathology conferences when she can." She brushed imaginary dust off of Ajax's shoulders before resting her hands there.

It was comical in a way, seeing an armed gangster frozen in fear under the touch and casual mood of such a petite woman, but no one was laughing. 

She found Ajax's watery gray eyes and held them captive, her own hard with intensity. "But she still has access to all her research, knows how to get to or recreate all the viruses and diseases she's ever worked with. And she loves me, deeply. Can you imagine what she would do, if she lost me? What any mother would do if she lost her one and only child?"

She let them all imagine what they wanted. When presented with an unknown, the mind always created worse possibilities than what were real to fill in the blanks. Melody could almost envision the dark depths of imagining her question posed. Kaon locked down, everyone under plague quarantine. Mass sickness, few cures, the crematoriums lit day and night, setting the skies ablaze with fire and ash. Perhaps the virus would start in the water, perhaps the air, but Kaon with its poverty, close quarters, and strict border enforcements would be ripe for disease. Few would be willing to intercede on their behalf. And that would only happen if the Red Death, in her grief, didn’t unleash pestilence upon the entire planet.

The images set in, made the air thick. Melody smiled and clapped Ajax on the shoulders, her sudden movements and bright mood dispersing the room-wide paralysis. "But we shouldn't have to worry about hypotheticals, should we? Not when we have a match to orchestrate in, oh my, forty-five minutes!" Melody looked around the room. "Any volunteers?"

"I'll go," answered a steady, deep voice from the front of the room. Every head turned. It was Soundwave. When had he gotten there, and for how long? He was one of the few not currently looking at her like she was a ticking time bomb. Instead, something like regard rested on his face, as if he'd just figured something out and was reconciling it with what he'd known before.

Melody recovered quickly. "Wonderful," she purred, punctuating the word with a clap of her hands."I love it when a plan comes together."

Behind her, the reigning Champion of Kaon watched her with red sun eyes and a shark's smile, thinking exactly the same thing. 

*

"You scared me to death," Ratchet intoned as they sterilized their instruments. It was the first time they'd had a moment to themselves since the mass brawl that morning.

Melody moved like she was on autopilot, her mind blank, but she managed to come back to herself for Ratchet. "I scared myself," she said matter-of-factly. "I'm just glad no one got killed."

Ratchet blew a puff of air through his nose, his opinion on _that_ consolation clear. "You shouldn't have stepped in for me. Ajax and I have done this dance before, many times, whenever he feels like reminding us all who's in charge here. But it never escalates, and it wouldn't have this time either." 

Melody had no way of knowing if that was the truth or if he was trying to talk some sense into her. "I can't let you take the fall for my mistakes, Ratchet. I wasn't raised that way."

"And that's another matter…"

When he didn't continue, she sighed. "Yes, the Red Death is my mom; no, I didn't pursue pathology like she did; and yes, it was deliberate."

Ratchet fell silent. Melody listened intently to the stream of clear freezing water washing over her instruments, the cold and feel of it dulled by the latex gloves she wore. Once she was done with the water, Ratchet passed her a bottle of solution to finish the cleaning process. She focused on her breathing, on her steadily beating heart which seemed to say to her with every pound _I'm alive I'm alive I'm alive_. It sounded less like relief and more like a chastisement, a reminder of her knack for survival despite her stupidity. But it was a better feeling than her rising guilt, for so many things.  

Melody spread her instruments on a perforated tray to dry. Ratchet would take hers and the other medics’ all at once to be disinfected and sterilized. She would have preferred to do hers herself, to care for them in the meticulous way she had always been taught, to make sure they stayed clean and safe to use on her patients. But those options weren't available to her in Kaon. The capos were strict about how often the medics used the hot water boiler and the oven, claiming high electrical expenses. Melody had inwardly sneered about that ever since Ratchet had explained their reasoning to her. It was ridiculous.

"Is that why they sent you here?" Ratchet finally asked, his voice breaking the strained peace like poking a hole in too thin paper. "Because they wanted you to go the way of your mother and you refused?"

She yanked off her gloves and threw them in the trash. Melody would not wash and reuse them like the capos wanted. If they couldn’t afford a damn pair of gloves, then they shouldn’t be running the Pits. But Ratchet had asked about her caste, about the High Council. "There are a lot of things I refused to do for them."

Melody quit the room and Ratchet let her, his pointed silence punctuating her steps.

* * *

"Well, I'll say this for ya," Melody told Skid, examining his bruised eye with a grimace. The lids and surrounding skin had already swollen like a water balloon. "You sure can take a hit."

"And it came from Grimlock, too." Skid's amused voice was a clear, smooth tenor. If he laughed, she imagined it would be warm, like honey in black tea. "At least, I think so. Hard to tell."

"Have you been working with this all day?"

 "It's nothing serious. Only just started looking rough. Thanks for your help, by the way."

 "No problem."

 Skid handed her the tub of healing ointment. Melody spread a pinch on the pad of her finger, the cream slippery and with a buttery sheen.

 Just as she was about to apply it, Skid flinched. "I haven't even touched you yet," she chastised.

 "I know, I know." Skid's other eye was squeezed shut to match the swollen one. "Oh, Primus, just do it."

 Half-amused, half-sympathetic, Melody rubbed the ointment onto the bruised skin as gently as possible. Skid let out a hiss of pain as her fingers pressed against the sore skin, and his body tensed. So typical of medics. They could tackle any hurt on someone else, but when it came to treating their own pain, they were no better than children. Melody couldn't even make fun of Skid for it. She was also a pitiful lout in sickness or in pain. 

But the ointment would help the swelling go down and the bruise to heal a little faster. She didn't bother to talk Skid through it; they both knew what it would do. So she distracted him another way. "How did you fall into the healing arts, Skid?"

"The same way most people in the Badlands do. Through necessity." His normally clear voice was stilted, as if he had to remind himself to breathe as he talked.

_I know you’ll come eventually, either through curiosity or need._  

"What do you mean?" she asked, rubbing into his skin the last few streaks. Ignoring the reminder Skid’s words had triggered. "Are there clinics around you can attend to study or…?" 

"There are some, yes. Little family-run establishments mostly." He breathed a sigh of relief as she pulled back and replaced the lid. His eye opened, a gentle, golden-flecked mahogany. The swelling in the other eye looked better already. "You can get licensed there, but those licenses are only recognized, well…out here."

Meaning the cities—Vos, Crystal City, and others—wouldn't let them practice there. "I see."

"I got mine around the time my dad got sick." Skid sighed, this one full of remorse, and moved around the medbay, examining a few charts hanging on the wall. He stopped as he found his datapad, fiddling with it. "He was in the mines for years and years, inhaling all that smoke and gas. When he came down with a lung disease, no one was really surprised. But I hoped…I hoped I could save him." 

Skid handed her the datapad. Melody took it gingerly, her heart cracking to see a picture on the screen. The young man in his late teens standing with a big, goofy grin on his face was undoubtedly Skid. He stood next to a broad-shouldered man who had pulled Skid into a one-armed hug. The man's dark hair was sweaty and unkempt, helmet hair at its finest, and soot was heavy on his clothes and leathery, bronze skin, but the skin around his eyes was clean and clear. Melody couldn't tell their color, but they held the same twinkle that Skid's did. His father. On his father's opposite side, he also embraced a petite girl with short dark hair in a wild cut, the same tawny skin as Skid's. Her arms were bare and toned with muscle, and she looked around Skid's age in the photo. 

"That was taken around three months before he really came down with it," said Skid. His voice was sad, but there was a smile about his lips as he continued, "He'd just retired, although we sort of forced him to."

"You and…" Melody trailed off, gesturing at the photo.

"My sister," Skid confirmed. "She was the most vocal about it. Always hated the mines. Dad and I were both scared that she'd be sent down there, too, but she found a way out. She's quick on her feet that way."

"Did she become a medic like you?"

"With those guns? No way. She could have been a surgeon with those small hands, but her patience? Non-existent.” Skid laughed fondly. “Besides, her right hook's much more impressive. She snagged a job with it as an enforcer over at the Iacon arena, so I see her from time to time. You might get to meet her, too, someday." 

"What's her name?" 

Skid grinned, the action lighting up his whole face so much it looked like gold danced on his cheekbones. "Arcee." His grin slipped, that inner light dimming. He took the datapad back, his focus on the picture, on his family's happy moment.

"I tried to treat Dad's illness, but nothing worked. All the medics I knew were either stretched too thin to help or were completely out of their depth, too. Not enough resources, not enough training. Not enough time. Arcee tried to appeal to the Medical Corps at Vos, Tarn, even Iacon since she'd already made some friends from there through her employer. But no one came." Skid swallowed hard, but his voice was steady as he said, "Arcee took Dad's passing the worst. I guess, from a medical standpoint, I realized saving him was impossible, but she… She takes these kinds of things so personally, and when no one showed up to help…"

"I'm so sorry, Skid. I'm so, so sorry." Melody's throat closed. She didn't know what else to say.

The junior medic shrugged one shoulder, shook his head. He grinned at her again, like before, but there was something hollow about it. "Shame we didn't contact Crystal City instead. If you're anything to go by, I'm sure they would have sent someone." 

An equally-hollow smile crossed her face. "Yeah, I'm sure you're right."

The lie hung over her like a storm cloud for the rest of her shift, a heavy pressure behind her eyes. She realized the truth of things by now. Her caste and the other elites spoke of the Badlands in sneering whispers, as if by acknowledging its existence too loudly, they would wish its filth upon them. That's how they saw the people who lived there, too: filthy, degenerate, deserving of their lot in life. After all, if the people were meant for something better, the Guild would have decided that at birth and sorted them accordingly into a proper caste. But the Guild had looked at them and seen some disease of the mind or body or spirit and decided to keep that disease somewhere low, somewhere it couldn't mar the rest of them.

And Kaon could honestly be better, the elites argued around their lavish dining tables, if the people there lived better, if they bothered to work hard and live by honest means. But they didn't. They complained about every hardship and tried to cheat the system to get ahead, but because the system was perfect, they always got what was coming to them in the end. So their poverty continued, and their suffering increased. The upper castes, her caste, had already tried to help them as best they could, but these rabid dogs bit the hands that fed them. They were on their own now.

Ever since she was born, Melody had been fed this steady diet of lies and propaganda and believed them to be the unadulterated truth. When she'd been sentenced to Kaon for a year, she had cried the night before arriving out of both terror and sorrow. She had been certain she would be attacked the second she'd stepped off the airship, imaging such monstrous things happening to her. She’d thought the people who lived there had to be monsters, too. 

Had quickly judged one of them to be exactly that, and though she was still intensely wary of him, she knew that her judgment had been unfair, born of fear and ignorance.

And she knew that the people in general were just trying to get by, knew they were limited in their options, hindered by so many obstacles it was a wonder so many of them still kept going. They were weathered and hardened and gruff, but they were fierce, fighters to the last. Ratchet wasn't the only medic who cared about them, either. Skid and the other medics were selfless, trying their hardest every day to save who they could, to salvage what they could. Melody had seen a number of them argue for more resources, in vain, but they still tried, hoping that for once some capo or Overlord or benefactor would offer just a little more.

Melody wanted to help them, medic and gladiator alike. Even Barricade, though she wouldn't mind slugging him first. But she understood more now; she recognized where some of his anger was coming from. She wanted to help improve Kaon's quality of life any way she could, saw no reason to deny the people that. It had taken her two and a half months to see it. Two and a half months of struggle and injustices and oppression to realize the truth. If the system was perfect, then it was perfectly stacked in the elites' favor, and not enough of the upper castes helped to even the odds.

When she went back to Crystal City, she would start to change things. Maybe she would bring a few fully-licensed medics, young ones like her, idealists, to see what she had seen. Maybe they could get a grant to open up a facility in Kaon, starting a string of them in the more impoverished parts of the planet. They wouldn't be able to charge as much as the practices in the city, and their pay would definitely reflect those cuts, but to Melody, it was more than worth it. What soulless person wanted to get rich off the dying, anyway?

She had to do it, if for nothing else than to help bring some balance to the world. If for nothing else than to tell Skid she was sorry.

Because no one from Crystal City would have come to nurse his dying father back to health. Least of all a young and naive medic who had indiscriminately feared and reviled all of Kaon. It didn’t matter that Skid already knew that truth, that she’d glimpsed it in his empty smile. What mattered was that it had taken her too long to see it for herself. 

* * *

Two days passed since Melody stood up to Ajax in front of most of the Pits’ regulars. Two days, and not a hint of retaliation or a glimpse of him at all.

Melody wasn’t foolish enough to believe she’d gotten away with it any more than Ajax was forgiving of any trespasses against him. Her dread creeped back in at the thought, like a slow-moving poison.

Two days was plenty of time for Ajax to seek retribution for his humiliation. Every day, every lulling second, Melody waited for the sword to fall, for her punishment to come. Because it had to. Melody had no illusions about her situation. Her status wouldn't protect her for long. The High Council was far away and unaware, and accidents happened in the Badlands all the time, Kaon especially.

Perhaps all Ajax lacked was creativity, or worse, an opportunity. Melody was trying like hell to never give him one, but even she couldn't stick closely with her fellow medics every waking moment. The more time passed, the longer nothing happened, and the tenser she became. She'd never been more aware of all the times she was alone throughout the day, like she was right now as she made a supply run for Ratchet. It took every ounce of self-control to keep her pace even, to not break into a run like she was being hunted.

It was a dangerous, stupid thought, but Melody believed she would prefer being hunted by Megatronus than Ajax any day. At least Megatronus didn't intend physical harm toward her. 

She hoped.

But the next few weeks passed, and in that time, Missile’s ribs were well into healing, but the walking disaster managed to dislocate his collarbone. Filling Spitfire’s missing slot, Ratchet assigned her another patient, a newcomer named Drixco, and continued to pointedly ignore Megatronus’ requests to reassign Melody as his primary.

Drixco, she quickly learned, wasn’t much for conversation, communicating more with a look or gesture than words. He was hardened in gaze and body, not defeated but gripped by an endless fatigue that was only offset by the determined glimmer in his umber eyes. Whenever she saw him from a distance, sitting in repose, he appeared like a ruminating bronze statue, his mold still burning hot from the kiln. Melody had been able to learn that he was an industrial worker, but that was all.

And all the while, Ajax still didn't retaliate.

Melody never once saw him during that time, even when another brawl broke out in the pit's mess area. He seemed to have vanished from his normal posts, no longer prowling down the hallways and tunnels to oversee things. Melody herself stayed busy, and eventually something gave, and she couldn't worry about the tension, the unknown, or the future anymore.

She could only do the job she was born for, so that's what she did.

* * *

Melody was at home when she received Ratchet's message on her datapad.

_Come in early tomorrow. I need to give you a briefing._

No minced words, no small talk, Ratchet was all business—and from just how brief the message was, Melody could pick up agitation in his tone. Whatever this was about, he was not happy.

She sent him a quick confirmation then headed to bed. She didn't need to ask him what early meant, knowing from experience he expected her there before dawn. She would need to board the first train to get there on time.

Other than Ratchet, she was the only person there at the Pits at this early part of the morning. The sun had barely crested the horizon, sending out a spurt of pink and buttery gold to slowly overtake the dying, gray night.

Ratchet ushered her into his medbay and closed the door behind her with the press of a button on the wall panel. As it whooshed closed, she shot him a glance. "So secretive today." 

"We need to talk, and I don't want this to spread until it has to."

She headed straight for the cabinets where they kept their mugs but stopped before taking one. "Is this something I can wait to hear until I have my cup of tea?" Still blurry-eyed and half-asleep, her words were just understandable.

Ratchet narrowed his eyes and opened his mouth like he was going to protest. But in a split-second, he got out, "Go ahead," and let her be.

She had her cup. Ratchet busied himself around the medbay. But at last, his patience expired, and he tossed an instrument down on an empty berth and spun toward her. "They're transferring me to Vos."

Melody felt like she'd been slapped by a cold fish. The chilling wrongness of Ratchet's words left her stunned, adrift. She burned her tongue on her tea, forgetting to swallow in time. "What? How? When?"

"Ajax gave me the news at the end of my shift last night. Apparently, the Vos pits are down one head medic, and they need me to fill in temporarily. A favor for another don." Ratchet rolled his eyes, which said all he thought about that particular matter. "They're shipping me out at the end of the month, this coming Wednesday. I don't know when I'll be back."

Melody's head was spinning. "Don't you think the timing's a little—"

"Too coincidental?” Ratchet finished. “That the second you start picking fights with gangsters on my behalf, they suddenly are in dire need of my medical expertise at Vos? Yes, I find it all very suspicious." He sighed sharply, his whole body jerking with the movement. "But there's nothing I can do about it. I have to go where they tell me to, or else—" 

"I know. Believe me, I know." Melody set her cup aside and undid her ponytail to run a hand through her thick hair. The cool feel of it did nothing to soothe her like usual. "Who's taking over in the meantime?"

"Trell. He's more than capable." Ratchet sighed heavily through his nose. "But that actually leaves us with another problem. About Megatronus…"

At his name, it was like every cell in her body became awake yet her focus was narrowed, almost tunneled. She snapped to full attention. The way Ratchet spoke, his resignation… Something was about to happen.

"He has been adamant about making you his primary physician. Up till this point, I've been able to ward him off.  Now that I'm gone…" Ratchet briefly massaged the bridge of his nose and shook his head. "You can't refuse medical attention to someone and still have a job here. Delegate and judge who takes priority, yes. Flat-out refusal, absolutely not. That's a rule they enforce pretty harshly, as you well know. That's why, even though we assign patients to certain medics for efficiency's sake, those assignments fall to the wayside as need arises. Everyone works on everyone in the end. But the fact that he's so _insistent_ has me—" 

"Maybe it won't be so bad," she interrupted, anticipating where this speech was going. "At the very least, maybe he could provide a buffer between me and Ajax. The capo won't want the star of Kaon out of commission for very long." 

"That's true," Ratchet conceded, "but I still don't like it. But there's nothing for it. I suppose the only thing we can do is try to make good out of a bad situation. I'm promoting you to secondary physician for Megatronus until I leave. That way, while I'm here, you can shadow him with me, watch how I treat and handle him, and hopefully you'll either have a medical breakthrough and I'll feel more confident leaving you as his primary, or he'll get bored, come to his senses, and request someone else." He looked at her sternly, his arms crossed over his chest and a brow raised. "Let us both hope it's the latter." 

"As always, your confidence in me is stirring," she replied dryly.

* * *

It was Soundwave, however, who ended up requiring her immediate attention.

"Where is Medic Trell?" He asked in that even-toned, crisp voice. He sat up on a gurney, his pallor a little more wane than usual but otherwise his eyes were bright and alert. He didn't seem at all bothered by the gash at his side leaking blood through the gauze he held to it.

Melody set her kit down and got to work, withdrawing her own gauze, alcohol, and stitching utensils. "With Ratchet, getting a crash course on how to run the place. You heard that he's leaving for a bit, right?"

"Of course. I suspect I knew even before you did, socialite." 

Why didn't that admission surprise her?

"So who won?" she said, nodding at the wound.

Soundwave didn’t answer, but he did look moderately offended that she even asked.

"Well, congratulations." She smiled wryly at him. He didn't return the gesture, merely stared coolly back, and her smile dropped. Bending forward slightly to get a better look at the gash, the medic began that old, familiar process. Examine the wound, clean it, make it right again. In the meantime, medic and gladiator continued their conversation. "I take it you don't like me very much, Soundwave." 

"I neither like nor dislike you. Your presence in my world is mostly inconsequential."

"Mostly?"

Soundwave didn't rise to the bait of the question but simply looked away.

So she asked another question. "How long have you been doing this, Soundwave?"

"Be more specific, medic. Vague questions only warrant vague answers." 

"Fair enough. The gladiator matches, I mean." 

"It's been nearly four cycles now." 

Which, in layman’s terms, meant a little over four months, give or take a day. So Soundwave had been green to the Pits just a month before Melody herself had arrived. "And are you a miner as well?"

Soundwave's eyes flashed to her in annoyance. "Ask me what you intend to, medic. I'm in no mood for games."

"Very well.” She braced herself for her own honesty. Soundwave with his unnerving perception would see through anything else. “How long have you known Megatronus?"

"I met him here, but I knew _of_ him. He'd already amassed something of a reputation by then." Soundwave appeared to debate with himself, and when he spoke next, it was with great reluctance. "He'll be pleased to know that you asked about him. And you'll be relieved to know that I have no intention of sharing this knowledge with him."

"That's generous of you, but—"

"Don't fool yourself. It simply isn't in my best interests for him to know. You're proving to be enough of a distraction, a time-wasting one at that." 

Surprised, Melody’s brows jumped toward her hairline. "How do you figure? I'm just doing my job."

"Yes, I wonder about that." He peered at her. “Just what were you intending to gain when you overheard our conversation that day?”

So he’d known she was there. Or had Megatronus told him? "Well, I wasn’t doing it on purpose if that’s what you—” And the thought occurred to her for the first time, ugly and terrifying. “…You think I'm spying on him."

"I think where you come from and your presence here during this political climate to be awfully convenient rather than coincidental."

"Political climate?"

Soundwave lifted a finely-shaped eyebrow, his expression dry. Bypassing her question, which she got the impression was an idiotic one, he continued, "But I'm not overly concerned. You pose absolutely no threat to Megatronus, or myself." 

"But enough of a threat to be labeled a time-wasting distraction, apparently."

"You'd be amazed,” he said slowly, “at how quickly distractions can be dealt with."

Melody tilted her head up to look at him. 

No aggression, no heated threat could be perceived from him, not in his body language, his tone, or his unflinching stare. Just cold, hard fact. 

Melody straightened to her full height to regard Soundwave, who still looked down at her from his perch on the berth. Then she was shaking her head and laughing lightly. "You're being way too serious about this, or haven't you noticed that your friend is a shameless flirt?"

"He's not my friend." 

"Right," she agreed, her eyes glittering. She went back to his injury, no longer concerned. "Look, if it makes you feel better, I thought at first he was being serious, too, but it's clear to me now. Megatronus is bored, and whenever he's bored, he tries to shake things up." She shrugged. "Once he figures out the medic from Crystal City won't give him the time of day, he'll move on, probably already is. And when that happens, Soundwave, you can go ahead and threaten all his other distractions, too. How's that sound?"

The look he gave her was almost annoyed. "I take back what I said earlier. I find you insufferable."

Melody smiled to herself. "As long as I know where I stand."


	6. Namesake

Ratchet led Melody toward the arena, the tinny sounds of lingering shouts and emptying stands echoing to them in their underground corridor. This was the part of Kaon spectators never saw. The Pits' underground network of tunnels, lifts, and rooms hosted the various employees who made their way to the places they needed to be in record time, unbeknownst to the crowd above. The deeper the tunnels went, the more security access you were required to have. As medics, they were allowed on the upper and mid-level tunnels but no farther without express permission and authorization. What that told Melody was that the lower levels were where the gang bosses and their people held court. 

Now, she and Ratchet were in a lift which would take them to Gate One.

Where Megatronus had undoubtedly emerged as the victor.

Melody was nervous, tapping a restless finger against her thigh, the tune to a song she hadn’t had the luxury of listening to in months. Treating Megatronus' injuries as need demanded wouldn’t be much different from being assigned to him, surely. But she couldn’t stop overthinking the possibilities. What if he refused to answer her questions or refused treatment? What if he attacked her? What if—

She cut those uncertainties off viciously, like they were a rotting stem polluting the rest of the vine. It didn't matter how high-and-mighty or childish Megatronus acted. She'd treat him the same as she did her other patients and do anything she had to do to get him in line, including putting the fear of Primus into him. _Though something tells me he's not the religious type._ Fine. The fear of her would work just as well, as Missile could no doubt attest.

"Just follow my lead," Ratchet said, side-eyeing her, "and we'll make this quick."

"You're the boss, Ratch." 

He scowled at the nickname, but the lift opened, and the senior medic swept forward, his stride sure and suffering no nonsense. Melody hurried after him, stethoscope jostling against her clavicle from where it was wrapped around her neck.

Just outside the gate, which was already closed to the arena, a surge of activity greeted them. Field techs darted to and fro with quick feet and sure hands, their attention focused on a single point.

Megatronus, still fully armed and in his battle armor.

Melody stopped in her tracks and stared.

If she'd considered Megatronus large before, now he was enormous, a living mountain of solid flesh and gleaming silver and black metal. The armor was shockingly state-of-the-art, modern and robotic, making Megatronus appear more cyborg-like than human.

_Well, that explains what the Don’s been putting all his money towards..._

However, it wasn't a full covering of armor—many areas of Megatronus’ body remained unprotected or covered by synthetic leather—but the pieces that were in place immediately drew the eye. The silver breastplate and shoulder guards protecting his chest and upper back. The thigh guards that gave way well before the knee-length leather combat boots. The matching gauntlets that covered his forearms and hands. The jointed black metal covering those callused fingers…

She should have realized it before, that Megatronus hadn't ripped apart opponents with brute strength alone. The armor intensified that strength, making impossible, inhuman feats suddenly feasible.

Even the weapons he'd chosen to walk with into the arena spoke volumes. A large arm cannon was attached to the right gauntlet. The fading purple light of the cannon and the smell of burning ozone told her it'd gotten much use in the recent fight. But it was the blades protruding from both gauntlets, above his hands, that she stared at. Both of them appeared to be over a foot long at least, and a smear of red blood gleamed on the left blade—

In less than a second, they were both sheathed. Melody's attention snapped upward to find that Megatronus had noticed her and Ratchet enter. His jawline was also framed in black and silver armor, the metal twisting to form a simple kind of visor, one which protected the sides of his face and the crown of his head but which left the back of his head and the features of his face exposed. 

So exposed that it appeared he'd taken a bad hit. His once straight, proud nose was crooked at its bridge, broken. Bruising and swelling already forming. Though it looked painful and blood was smeared on his skin, Megatronus was unbothered, unhurried, his posture tall and straight-backed. 

When his crimson gaze found her, his eyes widened slightly. But when he directed them at Ratchet, Melody wondered if she'd imagined his surprise because she saw only a coldly mocking look there, his lips quirked in a faint smile of triumph. Still high from the fight, it seemed, and the victory, wounds be damned.

So this…was what a gladiator looked like. The junior medic had never seen any of them in their armor up close. By the time they came to her for treatment, the field techs had stripped them of their weaponry and armor, maybe leaving one or two pieces in place depending on time and how severe their injuries were. But in general, if the medics were going to save a fighter, that armor had to go.

That was what the field techs were doing now, removing the armor and leather guards piece by piece. Though they were only two, both of them blond and of a similar medium build, one man being stockier than the other, they moved with a quiet efficiency and cooperation that Melody could only marvel at. They spoke to each other without speaking, both of them knowing what to do and where to direct their attention so as to not disrupt the other. Within mere minutes, they held every piece of Megatronus' armor between them, the stockier man hoisting the cannon securely beneath an arm. They made their way out of the gate and into the lift, nodding to Ratchet on the way out.

Megatronus, left only in an ebony body suit and boots, was all theirs now. 

With a determined set of her shoulders, Melody adopted a calm mask of professionalism and followed Ratchet.

* * *

Megatronus lazily rolled his left wrist, loosening the joints and the muscles in his arm that had grown tense during the match. He watched Ratchet approach with equally lazy amusement, the junior medic Megatronus found so promising trailing behind him. " _Two_ medics today. I didn't think I warranted such care, Ratchet. I'm touched."

"I'm sure," replied Ratchet, his voice dryer than the Koriolis Desert. "Now, what's wrong with you this time?"

"Nothing that requires two pairs of hands to manage." He looked pointedly at the head medic.

Ratchet waved the comment aside. "Just wanted to show the rookie how to deal with pain-in-the-ass patients. Thank you for volunteering." Everything about Ratchet was a blunt instrument as he interacted with Megatronus, including the unimpressed tilt of his mouth at the sight of the gladiator's broken nose. "You took that hit on purpose, didn't you." 

Before Megatronus could so much as smirk, Ratchet cut him off with a series of his infamous sputters. "I really _don't_ want an answer to that. Now, let's make our way to the medbay. Maybe a change in scenery will improve my mood about all this."

"Well, it hasn't before," the little medic mumbled under her breath. 

"What was that?" Ratchet barked over his shoulder.

"I said, 'Yeah, this place is a bore.' " Melody grinned and winked conspiratorially at Megatronus when he caught her eye. His own lips twitched.

"And why do you need to show 'the rookie' how to deal with me, Ratchet?" Megatronus said once they all got into the lift. "It's my understanding that she's done fine on her own up 'til now."

Ratchet huffed, disgruntled. It wasn't enough to stop Megatronus from noticing the slight flush that rose on Melody's face. The gladiator brimmed with satisfaction at the sight.

"It's because I'll be your primary once Ratchet leaves," Melody responded. "He wants to make sure I'm prepared."

_"Really?"_ Megatronus smiled that sharklike smile. "How sporting of you, old friend."

"Behave," Ratchet warned, glaring sternly. Not for the first time, Megatronus wondered how well the senior medic could hold his own, how long Ratchet would last until Megatronus' hand closed around his throat.

But it didn't matter now. Ratchet was leaving for Vos, out of Megatronus' sight. Out of his way. Things were coming together, slowly and rougher than he would've liked, but they were happening.

In addition, Megatronus noted, gaze sliding languidly to the petite medic, he'd gained an unexpected bonus. He'd be a fool to squander it.

When the three of them arrived at the medbay, Megatronus took a seat on a berth while Ratchet located gloves, gauze, and other materials necessary for setting a nose. Melody waited and watched nearby, still and calm. In that regard, she reminded Megatronus of Soundwave. In all other areas—the petite stature, the bright eyes, the intriguing curves of her body—she couldn't be more different. 

Ratchet turned, snapping a latex glove into place. His eyes were full of suspicion. "I've never known you to be so willing to undergo a medical procedure, Megatronus." 

"This isn't normal?" Melody asked before Megatronus could respond.

"No. He's usually doing everything he can to order me around or bully me out."

"Didn’t you want me to behave?” mocked Megatronus. “There _is_ a lady present.”

"She's a medic, the same as I am." Ratchet's voice was harder than stone. "But if she's actually earned your cooperation, then you won't hear me complaining. Now hold still. That bone needs to be reset." 

"Shouldn't you let your protégé do the honors? I'd much prefer her touch to yours." 

"No, you wouldn't. Trust me. She's more sadistic than I am." 

Melody flashed them both a too-innocent smile. Megatronus found himself purring, "All the more reason I'd love for her to do it."

"You'll get your wish in two days' time," Ratchet said, approaching the berth and blocking Megatronus’ sight of her. "But for now, I am still your primary, and you will do as I say. Clear?" 

Megatronus laughed lowly under his breath. Spoke only so that Ratchet could hear. "Of course I'll indulge you in this. How could your blustering possibly bother me, Ratchet, when in two days, she'll be mine?"

Ratchet stiffened, his eyes flashing furiously. Then he relaxed, gave a hard laugh of his own. “Be careful what you wish for, gladiator.”

Melody’s voice called from behind them, "And are you quite sure you don't want to numb it first?" Both gladiator and medic looked at her blankly. She held up her hands and sighed. "Fine, just making sure."

On the workbench, Ratchet’s datapad began beeping. “You handle that. I’ll get it.” Melody crossed the room and answered the call. “Oh, hey, Trell. What’d’ya need?”

"Right, then…" Ratchet and Megatronus sized each other up, Ratchet quickly eyeing the break and figuring out the severity and best course of action to fix it in moments, Megatronus reminding himself that lashing out at Ratchet wouldn’t win him any points. Then, swift as an adder, Ratchet's arm flew up. Fingers on nose, there was a firm jerk, and a loud, crunching sound filled the room. Megatronus let out a slight groan, knuckles white as he gripped the edge of the berth. Even Melody heard it across the room and winced, still on the call with Trell. "There, see?" Ratchet said. "All better."

Melody approached, datapad in hand, and peered at Megatronus's face. "It isn't straight."

"And it's not going to be, not without some extensive cosmetic surgery. Nose breaks can be tricky like that."

“Hmm,” Melody hummed non-committedly. She handed Ratchet the datapad. “Trell’s got a whole bunch of questions for you. I told him you’d be a minute, but he sounded pressed. I can take over if you—”

“Alright, alright.” Ratchet took the datapad, gave her a wry glance. “All you kids are going to be lost without me, aren’t you?” 

“Tragically so.” 

Ratchet threw a dark look at Megatronus, a warning, and left their side, grumbling. Melody shook her head at Megatronus. “What’d you do to piss him off? I literally stepped away for just a few minutes.”

“What makes you think I pissed him off?”

“That was the roughest nose fix I’ve ever seen. And now I’m left with the cleanup.”

Megatronus held still, a brow slightly raised as Melody continued to examine his nose. She hadn't once touched him, but every sweep of her eyes felt like a graze against him.

"Well," she pondered, "a straight nose did lend you a bit of an aristocratic air, Megatronus, but now… No real harm done at all, actually. A bent nose like this just makes you more ruggedly handsome." She sighed and shook her head, looking over her shoulder. "Some people just have all the luck, huh, Ratch?”

Looking up from the call, Ratchet glared and jabbed a finger at her before returning to his conversation, spoken too quietly to hear clearly. Melody laughed into her hand, delighted. Megatronus gripped the edge for a different reason now. To stop himself from grabbing her, from drawing her closer and seeing what else that flattering mouth could do. _Not yet._

He almost went back on his resolve when she finally touched him, two light presses of her forefinger and thumb on the top bridge of his nose, her voice low and soothing. “I’m going to check to make sure the bones are set and nothing else needs attention. _Please_ tell me if anything hurts overmuch.” Her eyes narrowed to dagger points. “I’m serious.” 

Melody gently pressed down the bridge of his nose, felt along his cheekbones. Megatronus never flinched, never made a sound. Just watched her intently. Her fingers also pressed against the back of his neck, examining the bones at the apex of his spinal column. Megatronus reminded himself again, _Not yet_ , as she nodded to herself.

“I’m going to pack your nose and do a little external dressing. You should be able to remove it in a week, maybe five days since the break wasn’t that bad. Just come see me about it, alright?”

Megatronus nodded. The little medic gathered her materials and got to work, a slight frown on her face, a serious line between her brow. Such focus… Megatronus got the distinct impression that, even though she was fixing his nose, she’d forgotten all about him. The idea should have rankled him, should have made him do something to remind her he was there, but… He found that he was content just watching her work.

“You have a high pain tolerance,” she noted a few minutes later, surprising him by breaking the silence. “I’m not sure that’s necessarily a good thing.”

“But it _is_ necessary,” he said. “I wouldn’t have survived this long without it.”

Melody lifted a brow. “The same goes for your pride?”

“My pride,” he said lowly, “is the reason why I am known as Megatronus, Champion of Kaon, and not as one of your nameless worker drones, left for scrap in the mines.”

“Ah,” she said softly, almost timidly, “that reminds me.” A pause. “Why Megatronus? You could have chosen any name for yourself, so… Why choose the Fallen’s?”

“He was one of the Thirteen Primes. Why wouldn’t I choose him?”

“He betrayed the others. He killed Solus Prime and they exiled him—to another dimension, for Primus’ sake.” 

“Yes, that’s how the story goes. But I wonder a lot about that story. I wonder at how we’re constantly only given one side, of every story.”

“So you think he was, what? Good while the other twelve were evil?” 

“From his point of view, perhaps. As for myself, no,” Megatronus said with a little laugh. “No. I don’t think any of them were good, or evil, or anything so simple. Those are just the designations we’ve applied to their myth to make it easier to tell to children.”

Melody leaned back at last, the dressing finished, discarding the last bit of materials. “But what if it’s true and not just a story? What if Megatronus Prime is all the things they say he is?” 

“Then I still admire him for going against his brothers’ plans and choosing his own destiny, something that none of us are able to do. Something that _all_ of us dream to do.” Her eyes met his, startled blue against hard crimson. “And to remind our people of exactly how far we have fallen.”

She was good at preventing her true feelings from reaching her face. Such a trained, well-practiced mask, almost unconscious. Megatronus only had that startled look in her eye, the slightest intake of breath before all signs were gone, submerged under a carefully-constructed neutrality. The only person he had ever had more trouble reading was Soundwave, but practicing with him had paid off now, because those two signs were enough. Megatronus no longer had to wonder if she dreamed as he did, but how big she dreamed. If she would be sympathetic to his cause or an obstacle. To know those things, he would have to test her more. Learn exactly how deeply her discontent ran, to just the High Council or to her caste at large.

Or maybe it ran even deeper than that. Maybe she was becoming as discontent with the entire system, enough to rip it out by the root and burn whatever was left to the ground, and if that was the case… He would give his sincerest thanks to the Council for sending her here, for making it easy for him to show her the ugly truth. She was already asking questions; all that was needed was a little more guidance on which questions to ask next. 

“I don’t think a simple dressing requires this much staring.”

Ratchet’s gratingly familiar, irritated tones derailed his thoughts. Melody stepped away, a chastised yet relieved look on her face. “Was that all, Ratchet? If there are no other wounds, then I need to get back down to my level."

Ratchet started at Melody's abrupt address. He waved her on. "Yes, go, go, go. I don't need you here."

She shot him a grateful smile, crossed to the threshold, then, to both men’s surprise, turned, and gave a theatrical bow to Megatronus with a flourish. “Lord Prime,” she said with false solemnity before leaving with a laugh and a smartass grin. 

All thoughts of carefully-laid plans disintegrated. Megatronus wanted to throttle her. He wanted to _make_ her bow to him, lower and with worshipping reverence. He wanted to chase after her and have her laugh again, wanted to feel it against his skin, his mouth.  

“Don’t,” Ratchet growled. “Don’t even _think_ about pursuing that one.”

The gladiator rose to his full height, radiating power, control. To Ratchet’s credit, he didn’t step back or falter. “I must have missed where it was any of your business, medic.”

“She has opportunities, you slagging idiot. Opportunities she’ll lose if you—”

“I wouldn’t have expected this level of ignorance from _you,_ Ratchet.” Megatronus stepped around Ratchet, fingered a dressing that Melody had left behind, unused. “You don’t honestly believe she’ll ever return to Crystal City as one of their own again.” 

“I don’t know what’s going to happen, and neither do you.” Ratchet spoke with force, not quite a yell but it was a close thing. “But I do know one thing: a relationship with anyone outside her caste would doom her, maybe even render her an Undesirable, and where will you be when that happens, Megatronus? Will you have time to pick up the pieces while your little revolution gets shot all to hell?”

Megatronus smiled, sharp as glass. “Why should it matter to you? You’ll be all the way to Vos, going where your masters tell you and being of no use to anyone.”  

The gladiator tossed the compress back on the table, strolled past Ratchet’s frozen frame. “Your way offers her opportunities which, if unfulfilled, would leave her adrift, powerless to do anything for herself. My way gives her options, tools she’ll be able to use with or without me, no matter where or who she is.

"What I’m really curious about," Megatronus said before leaving the medbay himself, "is why you keep trying to hold her back."

* * *

Heavy footsteps rushed down the hall. Before Melody could turn around, Ratchet caught up with her, stopping her with a hand around her arm.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Melody glanced at him then gestured at the hallway. "Uh… Walking?"

Ratchet's eyes narrowed and he huffed. "I _meant_ , what do you think you're doing with _him?_ "

Melody dryly responded, "You mean, being Megatronus' secondary physician?"

Ratchet scoffed, "Yes, and you’ll be his first the entire time I'm gone, so don't choose now to play dumb. I'm talking about all the—" Ratchet gesticulated wildly. "The pointed looks, and the lingering touches, and the _blatant_ flirting."

Melody's face was completely flushed now. "We're not flirting!"

"You don't call saying to a man who's broken his nose that he's still 'ruggedly handsome' flirting? And _what_ in Primus’ name— _Lord Prime?!”_  

"It was just a joke!" Melody wrenched her arm out of his grasp. "As for the rest, that's nothing more than just playful banter. It doesn't mean anything. We’re not being serious."

Ratchet gave her the look he reserved for people who'd just said something irredeemably stupid. "I don't claim to know Megatronus particularly well, but I do know how a man looks when he wants something. If I hadn't been there watching, I'm convinced he would have had you right there on that table, broken nose or no."

She blinked. Then laughed, disbelieving. "You don't know what you're talking about, old man."

Ratchet barked a mirthless laugh. "I might be old, but with age comes experience, and experience begets wisdom. Perhaps you're not even aware of it, or perhaps you don't want to be. And perhaps you didn't mean to, but trust me when I say that you've managed to get him completely taken with you."

Her eyebrows rose dangerously close to her hairline. "Ratchet, do you even hear yourself? Megatronus taken with some medic he just met a few months ago?” Melody rolled her eyes and shook her head. “I think he's got better things to occupy his time with. Like all those female admirers who actually pay attention to him and show up for his fights."

Ratchet sputtered. " _Female_ admirers? You really haven't been to any of the matches, have you? If you did, then you would know Megatronus doesn't even acknowledge their existence! From what I can see, he's preoccupied himself with four things: the fight, his opponent, whatever rousing speech he's deigned to give to the masses at the time, and now you."

That snagged her attention. Speeches? Speeches about what? Before she could ask, Ratchet completed his tirade, and it took a moment for her to string a thought together.

In the end, the one thing Melody wanted to tell Ratchet was that, whatever he was trying to get her to do or not do, he wasn't helping his argument.

"Megatronus is just—"

"An unforgivable mistake. Or he will be, if you both keep this up. You think your caste is shunning you now? Just think of what they would do to you, what they would take from you, if they found out you and a certain gladiator from the Kaon mines had an affair."

"Well, it's not going to happen, so you can stop worrying about it!" she snapped. Her anger cooled as quickly as it came. "I admit he’s interesting and not entirely what I expected, but I don’t have any interest in him that way. I rarely had any romantic interest in anyone back home, and hell, that’s partly why I’m here, isn’t it? We're both just distractions for each other down here. That's all."

Ratchet pinned her with a look, searching for a lie. At last he sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose with one hand and raising the other in a stopping motion. “Alright, alright. I’m sorry for assuming things on your end. I know you’re smart, just… Promise me that you’ll be careful while I’m gone.”

“Absolutely. I _love_ being careful. It’s my favorite.”

“…Carry on then. We both have places to be.”

Melody smiled as he turned away, returning back in the direction he had come. Then she whirled around, smile gone, marching a hard line down the corridor before Ratchet could say another word to rile her further. Her and Megatronus? Ridiculous. As if she would ever… As if _he_ would ever…

Wisdom her ass. Clearly, Ratchet was losing his touch if he was humoring thoughts like that. Men! All of them, just out there all stumbling around, thinking every smile and joke and kind word equated to, _I want you. Please stick your tongue down my throat._ Fragging idiots.

Even so, Melody couldn't figure out why she was so irrationally _angry_ all of a sudden. Like it bothered her that Megatronus didn't harbor any real feelings for her. Like it bothered her that, even if their feelings were mutual, they wouldn't be able to do anything about it without inciting the wrath of her caste. Like it bothered her that, even on such a small matter as a relationship, she’d never have much choice at all.

Like it bothered her that Ratchet could possibly be right.

Ridiculous. He wasn't right, so there was no point in thinking about it anymore. She let the matter drop. It was an easy thing to accomplish.

Particularly when she walked into her medcenter to find Ajax there, sitting calmly at her station, waiting for her.


	7. An Ethical Dilemma

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this chapter went something like this:
> 
> Me: I've got a lot to cover in this one, so I'm gonna get through things as fast and brief as possible!
> 
> Me, only halfway done and fourteen pages later: fu UcK never mind guess I'll continue this next chapter!
> 
> Also, also, also, I received the first fan art I've ever received, for this story or otherwise, by shironek0, and I am so flattered and humbled, and I love them all to pieces. So shironek0, if you're reading this, thank you SO MUCH for drawing for this story. I have looked at your sketches so much, especially whenever I've had a bad writing day or just need a pick-me-up. No words can do justice on how happy they've made me feel nor my immense gratitude for them, so thank you for reaching out to me and sending them my way. I will literally never get over them ever. <3

A sinking feeling in her gut. Hair standing straight up on her arms, the back of her neck. Gooseflesh on her skin and jitters in her legs.

Ajax's smile, greasy and not at all kind, eyes glinting with a dim rage and a vague sense of triumph. All of this, Melody observed in a detached sort of way because she knew what every sign meant without a word being spoken. 

The sword was dropping.

"Just who I most wanted to see," the capo said, jabbing a finger at the other side of the station. "Sit. We have an important matter to discuss with you." 

"We?" hedged Melody. She stepped gingerly past him, inspecting the room all the while. Empty. No one but the two of them. No muscle.

"We," Ajax said slowly. "I took care to inform Don Clench of your situation." A flash of teeth. "He believes we can all help each other with our little problems."

"I wasn't aware I had a problem."

Narrowed eyes. "You'll have more than you can count if you keep on."

_Quit poking the bear_ , a little voice reminded her. It sounded like Ratchet. Instead, she took a seat, crossed her arms.

Waited.

"A shame about Ratchet leaving, isn't it? We're all going to miss him." Ajax leaned forward, arms on the table. The sleeves of his dark suit rolled up, exposing a shiny, silver watch she knew by sight was beyond the typical pay grade in Kaon. "But it landed you a sweet little promotion, didn't it?"

"It was more of a lateral move."

His jaw clenched. The gangster leaned back from her, forcing calm. "Blunt. Fine, then, I'll skip the pleasantries. Given your new position—"

"You want me to convince Megatronus to throw a match, don't you?"

Ajax blinked then glowered. " _Don't_ get ahead of me."

"It won't work. He's not going to listen to me. Why would he?" Melody kept all emotion off her face, forced an even tone, but under the table, she wove her fingers together, in and out and in again, all nerves. "I don't see why you don't—"

"No, you dumb broad, you don't see. Megatronus can't be _convinced_ or reasoned with. He can only be humbled, humiliated." His steel eyes gleamed. "Admittedly, he's of more use to us alive than dead in a ditch somewhere, for now. But he's quickly losing value. That's where you come in."

A frown tugged her lips as she listened to Ajax outline what he wanted her to do, what the boss of the Pits wanted. By the time, he was done, Melody's hands were clenched in a bone-white grip. "You want me to willingly commit malpractice on my patient." 

"We'll make it worth your while."

"How?" she exclaimed, indignant.

"That probation of yours, for one. We can make that all go away."

Melody let out a scoffing sound. "Oh, really?" 

"Councilor Ratbat owes the don a favor. He’s willing to call it in on your behalf, if you do this one little thing for us. Do you understand what that means? You can go back to your life in Crystal City, Miss Boggess."

"And if I refuse?" 

Silence. Then—

"The view from your room isn't the best, is it?"

Melody felt the blood drain from her face as Ajax rose, stretched his arms to the ceiling. He continued, his tone dripping with casualness as if they were just two friends discussing life. "But at least you can see the sky from the fire escape. That's more than a lot of people have.

“And before you bring those _influential_ parents of yours into this, well…” Ajax chuckled. “Not much they can do for you, stranded all the way out here, locked out of Crystal City’s Communication Grid as you are. Oh, yes, we know about that, my dear. Done a good bit of reconnaissance on that mother of yours, too. Bit of a frosty relationship there, wouldn’t you say?”

As he spoke, Melody felt the lies, the denials form on her tongue, only to be crushed beneath Ajax’s heel before she could voice them, the truth in his words hitting her almost too fast to process. The medic didn’t know how he’d gotten so much information on her and her family in so short a time, but that wasn’t the important thing right now. What mattered was that he learned from his mistakes. She would be impressed if she wasn’t the one under fire, frozen in place.

He strolled towards the door and raised a hand in farewell. "No need to tell us your answer. We'll find out, two matches from now."

Left in silence, Melody released the breath she didn’t realize she’d been holding. She staggered to her feet, dimly pushing in her chair before approaching the counter where various medical supplies waited to be sorted and put away. She attended to them mindlessly, her auto-pilot taking over while she wondered how things had gotten so out of her control. 

The sword had fallen, missing her head by inches. Instead, she felt it resting against her throat like a shadow, held by an invisible hand. 

It would be entirely up to her now, whether she cut open her own throat or not. 

Exactly as Ajax had always intended. 

* * *

The next several days were some of the worst of Melody's life since coming to the Pits. Outwardly, no one—not even Ratchet—could tell that anything was wrong, but on the inside, she was all jangled up nerves, a queasiness in her stomach, and restless nights.

When had Ajax or one of his men found her apartment? When had they had access to it while she was unawares, and how often? She’d never considered the place home, but she at least thought it a safe space. Now, even that had been taken from her, violated.

She remembered the doorman that guarded her building, waiting for her to get home every day she worked at the Pits. Recalled the gun he carried, retro but still lethal enough to get the job done. Wondered why she’d never considered whose payroll he was truly on. 

She longed to tell Ratchet everything, but before she knew it, his final day at Kaon came and went. She’d barely gotten to say goodbye to him along with the rest of the medics at the train platform before he got shipped off to Vos.

“I’ll be in touch, once I get settled,” he’d promised them all. “Let me know if you need anything, and I’ll do my best to help.” He looked at Trell, nodding satisfactorily. “You’re all in good hands. Trell’s almost as nurturing as I am.” 

That’d gotten a laugh out of her as Skid stepped forward to clap Ratchet on the back. The junior medic turned away quickly, claiming he had something in his eyes, rubbing them vigorously. 

The train whistled its final warning bell, and Ratchet stepped into the car. Before the doors closed, he leaned out and said directly to her, “Remember what we talked about concerning your new assignment, Mel.” 

“I will.”

“And don’t cry. Primus’ sake, you all are acting like I’m dying.” He rolled his eyes, exhaling a puff of air. “I’m not leaving forever.”

“I know,” she said, trying to keep her voice from wobbling. A tear slipped down her face, and she whipped it hurriedly away. “I just hate goodbyes.”

“Yeah? Well…me too.” He smiled, and it softened his entire face. “You’re going to be fine, you know.” 

The sheer confidence in which he spoke almost broke her, and she’d never felt less like she’d be fine as she said, “I know. Thanks, Ratch.”

“Doctor,” he corrected, not gently but certainly not reprovingly.

Melody smiled and nodded. “Doctor,” she agreed, just as the doors shut. 

His train left, and she, along with all the other medics, slowly adjusted to Ratchet’s acute absence around the Pits, missing him like hell. 

Lingering in the back of her mind all the while was the decision she had to make. The medic knew what she had to do; it was the fallout afterward that she worried endlessly about.

A few days after her conversation with Ajax, the source of her problems came as instructed to get the dressing removed from his nose, albeit with a minor hang up. 

"It hasn't been five days," Melody told Megatronus dryly.

Megatronus only settled himself on the berth, his voice rumbling an almost-command. "Humor me."

Even with his nose packed with gauze, his voice and diction were never less than perfect. Megatronus did not speak through his nose, no; that power behind him was all throat and diaphragm.

It took mere minutes to dispose of the dressing. Melody was silent during the process, her fingers gently pressing the bones of the now crooked bridge of his nose, testing for sensitivity and lingering pain. If any problems persisted, she'd need to make him wear a new dressing for a few more days. 

But of course, Megatronus gave nothing away, and even though she suspected he answered her questions dishonestly, there was nothing she could do to prove it or force her way.

"You're being strangely quiet," he said once their business had finished.

Melody shot him a look. “You don’t know me well enough to know when I’m being quiet.” 

"Call it a lingering suspicion. Not thinking about causing any trouble, are you?" 

Was his word choice coincidental, or did he honestly suspect something?

"I could ask the same of you." Melody crossed her arms, lifting a brow. "You've a match in two days but nothing today, so why you're lingering around the Pits now…"

"Do I need an excuse to visit my favorite medic?"

"I think I _am_ your excuse," she said coolly, "to mask what you're really doing here today."

"Such a smart little thing." He rose from the berth. Melody went to step back, but his hand grasped her chin, holding her in place. "You should be more careful with that mouth of yours. It too readily betrays all the important details you notice. Not everyone can appreciate that like I do."

"If you don't need anything else," Melody said, "I _do_ have actual patients to see to." 

She caught a flash of his sharp teeth as he smiled. His thumb grazed her jaw before he let her go and moved towards the door.

"Thanks for the care," he said over his shoulder in a taunting way that implied he’d barely needed it at all.

"Try not to get punched," she quipped in a way that implied she highly doubted his success rate.

Once he was gone, Melody sat down heavily and covered her eyes with her palms.

What was she going to do?

It was almost funny. The two of them had no real relationship beyond the Pits; they weren’t friends or anything surrounding that, but Megatronus had picked up that something was wrong with her. _Well, Megs, I’m kind of expected to help with sabotaging you after your next match, or something bad will probably certainly happen to me. No hard feelings, though!_

Clench and Ajax hadn’t even needed to tempt her with returning home early; the obvious threat to her life was motivation enough for her to cooperate.

Still.

If she did what they wanted, she knew she would live to regret it, and perhaps not for very long. Not just because it would make an enemy out of the most lethal gladiator in Kaon, but because _she_ would know she’d done this terrible thing. Worse, Clench and his goons would know, too, and what better blackmail against an elite medic did you need than premeditated malpractice? She would be under their thumb for as long as she lived. 

She knew what she should do, and she knew what she had to do. 

The two weren’t necessarily one and the same.

* * *

The evening of Megatronus' first match came like a hurricane. Slow to arrive but devastating once it did.

Melody mentally ran through all the pertinent information about Megatronus' opponent, Grindsplitter. He was vicious, he was cruel—one might say a sadist—and he knew how to cause lasting damage.

It was all too clear why the capos had chosen him for this fight. She could practically hear Ajax's message to her loud and clear. _See? Look at how easy we're making it for you, sweetspark._

Melody dreaded the outcome of this match, so much so that pacing restlessly in front of the gate, waiting for it to be over, just wasn't going to cut it. Her nerves couldn't take the not-knowing.

And so, she found herself taking a lift to the arena proper, not as a medic but as a spectator.

Megatronus was finally getting his wish, and he would never know it. 

The stands encircling the arena were divided into thirteen boxes, one for each gate. Some boxes had private screens hiding the identities of the spectators behind, one of which always hosted the pit bosses and the gamemakers who would determine and monitor the match. Those were the expensive seats. Melody had no use for them today.

She perched on the top of the stairs of a public box, Gate Four located deep under her feet. Scanning for an inconspicuous, open spot among the crowded seats, she started when a familiar voice called out, "Hey! Mel!"

Eyes darting, she found Skid standing and waving at her from an end seat twelve rows down. Flashing him a grateful smile, she made her way to the empty seat next to him.

"Fancy seeing you here," she shouted to him over the noise. "On your day off, no less." 

Skid shrugged, his usual scrubs replaced with a well-worn, white t-shirt and washed out jeans. Perched on the back of the chair in front of him, his black tennis shoes had seen better days a long time ago, and Melody was reminded that, despite their similar status as junior medics, the differences in their caste and wealth were staggering.

"I haven't been able to see a match in a while, been so busy," Skid said, leaning towards her so they could talk easier. "I'm actually shocked to see you here. I thought you never came to these things."

"I don't—I mean…" Melody debated her words. "Let's just say I have a vested interest in this one." 

"Oh?” His dark brows rose, surprised. “I didn’t think you were the betting type.”

"What?" 

"Bet. You know, at the tellers? What’d you put your money on?"

Melody decided to play along. "Oh. For Megatronus to win, of course."

Skid laughed and shook his head. "Oh, I see. You didn't bet at all, then."

"How did I already give it away?"

"Well, for one, the capos don't accept that kind of bet anymore. Of course Megatronus is gonna win; he always does. Instead, they do things like, 'who lands the first hit' and 'how long will the match last,' those kinds of things."

"Ah."

"And for two, just because I’m an observant fellow," Skid said, grinning like a fiend. "It's clear to me that Megatronus is a little sweet on you…"

"For the record—" 

"—and _maaay_ be—"

"—I hate where this is going."

" _Maybe_ ," Skid pressed on eagerly, "you're a little sweet on him, too." 

"Two things wrong with that," Melody said, holding up two fingers and ticking them off. "One, no. Two," she spoke louder over Skid's snickering, "Megatronus is many things, but _sweet_ isn't one of them."

He leaned forward, scanning the rows in front of them. "Hey, there are a couple seats near the front if you really want to see your sweet, sweet gladiator in action. Let's g—"

Melody yanked him back down as soon as he stood up. "We're not friends anymore, Skid."

But even as he laughed at her again, even as her face warmed, she was grinning.

They passed the time by talking about work, mostly all the things wrong with work, and Skid did an impression of Trell, who'd become a real Type-A, pain in the ass since taking over from Ratchet, that was so accurate, Melody doubled-over laughing in her seat.

And over her laughter, the cheers started. Scattered at first, then rising to a catastrophic roar.

Melody sat up, mouth suddenly dry and all trace of laughter gone. 

It was starting.

Out of Gate Five strolled the first gladiator. Grindsplitter stood just under six feet tall, and though his build was smaller than the typical gladiator, rumors of his speed and dexterity preceded him. His armor was white and a sickly green, a sniper canon on his left arm and a wicked-looking blade twirling between the fingers of his right hand. As the lights shone on the blade's surface, Melody thought she could make out a similar green tinge upon it. Poison, she surmised, her stomach hollowing at the thought.

As he waited for his opponent to enter, Grindsplitter held a mad grin on his face, eager to do the dark work he'd become adept at for years: bringing down bigger, stronger opponents nice and slow. Melody wondered how the Kaon boss had persuaded Tarn's to "borrow" him for the occasion. 

And then Megatronus entered out of Gate Thirteen in that same silver and black armor, those same weapons equipped: an arm cannon and dual gauntlet blades. Ear-splitting applause and shouts rang out all over the stands, but Megatronus did not acknowledge them or quicken his pace. His steps were measured, controlled, a clear message to everyone in attendance that they were on his time, not the other way around. The match would start when _he_ decided.

Melody almost hated him for delaying the inevitable. Her legs bounced restlessly. How long did these fights usually last anyway? Minutes? Primus, not close to half an hour, surely. Shoulders tense, she turned to ask Skid, but lights flashed around the dome, darkening the stands and illuminating the arena.

The fighting pit was mostly barren, scorch marks left upon the flat, dirt-coated ground. A few structures jutted out near the walls, providing cover, but the center of the arena was completely clear of obstacles. Grindsplitter and Megatronus stood several meters away from each other, gaze directed not at their opponent but up.

Melody's gaze followed.

Above the arena, a scoreboard flashed to life, displaying the combatants' names and faces. Between them, Cybertronian began to flash, too fast to read, spinning in a roulette. The crowd grew antsy, shouting and stomping their feet as they waited for whatever decision the gamemakers landed on.

The words slowed, landing at last on two words:

SUDDEN DEATH

Everyone around her, with the exception of Skid, went nuts with glee.

"Ah," Skid said, "this is gonna get hairy." 

"It's a death match." Her body was starting to shake with adrenaline and something else. "Aren't they all hairy?" 

"I suppose, but this isn't _just_ a death match. It's timed, too. Look."

He pointed back up at the scoreboard. The words SUDDEN DEATH were still there, but smaller, and underneath them was what could only be a timer, set for one klik. Melody did the conversion in her head.

"So they've got about a minute twenty seconds to kill each other? What happens if they don't?"

"Then things get interesting."

"I thought every match was more or less the same."

"Not always. Sometimes, it's strictly no kills. Sometimes, it's three-on-one. Sometimes, they deliberately rule it a death match, no limits. Other times, it's up to, uh, interpretation."

"Primus," Melody breathed, bringing her attention back down.

To Megatronus, who didn't look shaken at all but was rather smirking lazily. Grindsplitter raised his sword, pointed it at Megatronus, then swiped it in a throat-cutting motion. Megatronus only laughed, saying something she couldn't hear.

But those in the stands closest to him could, and they erupted with taunts and jeering. From the loudspeakers, a horn blew to signal the start of the match, which was a good thing since Grindsplitter, face twisting in a snarl, immediately opened fire. 

Megatronus effortlessly side-stepped the thin but rapid blue laser bolts, firing back less precise but larger, purple bolts of his own. Grindsplitter ducked one, deflecting the other two with his sword. They ricocheted toward the crowd, some of which screamed, but the bolts bounced harmlessly off an invisible shield, their end trajectory aimed at the arena floor. Laughter followed. 

Distracted with the horror of the almost-carnage, Melody turned her attention back to the pit to find Megatronus and Grindsplitter engaged in close combat. Judging from their position, Grindsplitter had reached his opponent first with his superior speed and was currently raining down blows. Megatronus blocked them with his gauntlets, his blades, and as sparks flew from every point of contact with metal on metal, Melody could tell that Grindsplitter was surprised—and frustrated.

Melody almost sympathized. Someone as large as Megatronus shouldn't be able to move as fast as he was, but he seemed to dodge, block, and parry every strike with a speed that was instinctive, not daunted at all that his opponent's blade was poisoned. Not running, not backing down, his entire body a honed, living weapon.

That was the difference between them. Grindsplitter used his weapons with obvious finesse, but Megatronus never had to think about form or style. He was the weapon he wielded, and he knew exactly what he was capable of. 

The gladiators' blades locked, and Megatronus took the opening, slamming his forehead into Grindsplitter's nose.

Skid whooped and clapped. “Yeah! That’s our boy! First blow!” he crowed while Melody’s mouth twitched behind her hand.

Grindsplitter released a guttural yell, more shocked than pained. A few staggered steps back, then Grindsplitter was evading Megatronus' lunged strikes, his body bending in a series of acrobatics that was dizzying to watch. His speed took him far as he covered himself with laser fire. Megatronus took a hit in the shoulder, snarling as he backhanded a bolt out of the air with impatient fury.

Grindsplitter took cover behind a structure near the eighth gate, ducking away from the return fire. Megatronus stalked slowly forward, eyes sharper than serrated steel and promising pain, focused only on the kill. 

And the entire time the clock ticked down. 

Melody's heart raced in her chest, her face flushed. Looking at her, you would think she was the one down there fighting for her life instead of sitting safely in the stands, watching helplessly. She didn't know what she was hoping for, but she knew she didn't want Megatronus to die. She wasn't even sure she wanted to watch him kill.

But she could not look away from him.

She could see now why people could become addicted to the Pits, why her caste indulged in them, why the High Council allowed them to flourish.

It was as exhilarating as it was terrifying to watch a true predator at work.

A few seats down, a man rose from his seat, waving his ticket in the air, shouting, "C'mon, you bastard, finish him off! Daddy's gotta make some money!"

"Looks like someone bet on a short match. Not much time left," Skid said, pointing at the countdown. "He _could_ finish it now, but I'm sure he won't."

"Why not?" she asked breathlessly. 

_“Well,”_ Skid trailed off, scratching his chin. “My guess is because he’s crazy.” 

As if waiting for Skid’s cue, Megatronus’ voice called over the crowd, loud and vicious. “Are you the best Tarn has to offer, Grindsplitter? Run then. Let’s see how long you can last in the Pits of Kaon!”

The countdown reached zero, and several things happened at once. 

First, the spectators. Besides the man next to them, who threw his ticket down and swore creatively enough to form a new grammar, they seemed more energized than ever. Many people leaned out of their seats and cheered, others attempting to make their way closer to the edge of the box, clogging the stairs on the way down.

Second, the arena. A loud rumbling sounded, and Melody recognized it as a gate opening. But not just one gate. Three. Emerging from Gates Two, Seven, and Twelve on giant, whirring locust wings flew six Insecticons to enter the fray, their voices singing a shrill, off-kilter war cry. 

Horrors crafted from both the natural world and advanced Cybertronian engineering, Insecticons were giant insectoid creatures comprised of a mesh of both organic segments and machinery. Most Insecticons were drones, their hive minds controlled by a "queen," in this case the bosses and gamemakers. But some Insecticons, like members of the Insecticon Gang, had evolved beyond their intended parameters, gaining their own sentience and controlling drones of their own.

These drones, it seemed, had been given only one order: kill.

One Insecticon from Gate Seven immediately dove for Grindsplitter, its razor sharp claws and mandibles extended. Grindsplitter raised his laser cannon, killing it with a single headshot. 

Third, the horn sounded again, and the countdown restarted from one klik.

Now the match was one on one on five, and as Megatronus aimed for Grindsplitter, who was no longer hidden behind cover, it was obvious the Kaon gladiator wasn’t in the mood for teamwork against these new foes.

Firing a shot that caught Grindsplitter in the chestplate, Megatronus immediately turned his attention to more pressing problems. Two Insecticons flew a weaving pattern his way, intending to overwhelm him. But one of Megatronus' lasers caught the wing of an Insecticon, and it went down, smoking, stunned, and certainly in pain, but still alive. The second Insecticon swerved up, getting clear of Megatronus' continued blaster fire.

A third Insecticon, however, had flown low and fast, and its bulk tackled Megatronus from behind, sending them both flying a few feet before landing hard on the ground. Much of the crowd—including Melody—cried out reactions of fear or delight. The Insecticon had Megatronus pinned, snapping at the exposed back of his head and neck. 

Just a few meters away, the Insecticon with the busted wing shrieked in triumph and charged for the fallen Megatronus, one wing dragging uselessly behind it.

Grindsplitter was having his own problems with the other three. Chest heaving, his armor charred and smoking in the center of his chest, he fired intermittent shots and swiped his poisoned blade at any Insecticon that got too close. But he was smiling madly again, and it was clear why as his gaze flicked to Megatronus and back.

All around Melody and Skid, people who had been rooting for the gladiators were now shouting encouragements for the Insecticons to rip them apart. Melody was shaking, a potent combination of fear, rage, and adrenaline festering inside her, trapped with nowhere to go.

So she spoke it. "Slagging bastards. I'd like to see how long some of these cowards would last down there."

"The audience's favor is notoriously fickle," Skid said, but he was unflappably calm. "Do I detect a hint of concern for your gladiator?"

"Yes, I am deeply concerned that in a few minutes, I'm highly likely to lose another patient to this barbarism!" She grimaced at the sight of the Insecticon baring down on Megatronus. "I don't know how you can keep watching this." 

"That's just first-time jitters talking. He’ll be fine. Watch.” 

Down on the ground, Megatronus swiftly elbowed the Insecticon pinning him in one of its bulbous eyes, crushing it. The creature lurched back, giving Megatronus enough room to maneuver onto his back. Seeing an opening for his throat, the Insecticon lunged again, mandibles and teeth bared for the kill, that unholy screech tearing from its throat.

Only to jerk to a stop as Megatronus caught its mandibles in his hands. The Insecticon tried to jerk away, to push itself forward, but Megatronus didn't budge an inch, the visible muscles of his biceps corded with power. Then, in one smooth jerk, the movement almost too fast to see, Megatronus snarled, twisting the Insecticon's neck, its head snapping clean off. 

A spray of electric blue energon, metal, and organic matter. The body still moving in a dying throe even though its head was gone. Megatronus gave it no attention, kicking the body away and rising to his feet. 

Just in time to skewer the second Insecticon rushing for him, his gauntlet blade opening the thing up from head to abdomen, sparks flying as metal cleaved through metal. The Insecticon screeched and flailed weakly, and Megatronus hurled it away as if it weighed nothing, as if it _were_ nothing.

From the stands, Melody watched the whole thing happen in seconds, wide-eyed and speechless. 

_Oh._

So. She hadn't needed to do all that worrying after all. Right. 

A vision of brutality, his armor dripping with blood and energon, his face speckled with it, Megatronus turned his face up to the countdown.

And he laughed, a wild, feral sound, as it reached zero again.

"Still having trouble, Grindsplitter?" he mocked thunderously, eyes flashing as he saw there were still three Insecticons left. "Perhaps this will help." 

A sharp hissing sound. Some members of the audience crying out in dismay. 

"What now?" Melody began, sitting up in her seat, craning her neck to get a better look.

But then she saw the gray smokescreen filling the arena, blinding the audience from the match and, more importantly, the gladiators and Insecticons from each other.

The horn blared. The countdown restarted. 

Skid leaned back in his seat, heaving a sigh. "Thank Primus, I needed a break. I was on the edge of my seat there."

"Speak for yourself," Melody said, no longer in her seat at all, her nails leaving indentions upon her face as she dug them into her skin with renewed concern. Her eyes strained to see something _, anything_ , through the smoke. Aside from the occasional errant burst of blue and purple laser fire, the grating screech of metal clashing against itself, and Insecticon shrieking, she could detect nothing concrete about how the fight was going. "This is so much worse."

“Sit the frag down!” a woman called from behind her. Melody sent her a rude gesture and did nothing of the sort. 

“Proud’a you,” Skid crooned before turning and giving the woman a cheeky smile and a thumbs-up. 

Slowly, the smoke dissipated, filtering somewhere out of the arena, revealing more and more of what was happening. An Insecticon, guided by the purple laser blast in its center, hurtled clear of the smoke and met its crushing end against the arena wall to Melody's left. Not a moment too soon. The spectators' bloodlust had been whetted, only to be jarringly taken away from them. But the anticipation had wound them tight, and now they were all eager, so eager, to see what bloodbath awaited them down below. 

Grindsplitter was revealed first, his blade stabbing clean through an Insecticon, filling it with poison. The set of his teeth was pure irritation; that blow had been meant for Megatronus, and now his sword was missing a significant amount of venom. 

The last Insecticon came into focus behind and to the right of Grindsplitter. On its back, legs in the air, motionless, it had been dead for quite some time, already forgotten. 

The smoke shifted, a large shape barreling out at Grindsplitter's left. The Tarn gladiator spun, bringing his blade up just in time to block Megatronus' left slash, feet moving, trying to keep himself out of Megatronus' reach. The two were no longer bothering with cannons. As Megatronus landed a right hook on Grindsplitter's jaw, blood and spittle flying, Melody saw that he had sheathed the blade on his right gauntlet, the two gladiators choosing to end the fight on even terms.

And the end was building, she could feel it. Both gladiators were tiring, their attacks more vicious than ever, and the clock was already past half a klik. Neither wanted to see a fourth round.

Even if that meant one of them had to die. 

Grindsplitter, his jaw bruised and broken, managed to feint left only to land a successful slash just above Megatronus' left knee. In her seat once more, Melody cursed, her mind already running through the list of antivenins they had on stock. First, though, _she needed that sword_.

"Skid, I know you're not supposed to work today—"

"I can get the sword and run the tests. Just stay near your comm," he assured her. "It'll be alright. It's almost over."

Inwardly, though, Melody knew things weren't alright. Remembered why she was even here. She'd gotten so swept up in the fight that she had forgotten why she'd even come. That poisoned wound.

_Look at how easy we're making it for you._

Meant more for her than Megatronus.

_Megatronus suffers a lotta injuries. It wouldn't be out of the question if you overlooked one or two. On accident, of course._  

Whatever venom was on that sword wasn't meant to kill him, just slow him down, weaken him. Enough for him to finally lose a fight, and knowing the pit bosses like she did now, they would make sure that fight was soon, within the next few days at least.

Impossible for him to recover in time without the proper treatment.

Her hands clenched into fists, jaw locked. 

_Greedy, spineless cowards._

And they expected her to be one, too.

A roar from Megatronus brought back her focus. Disarming Grindsplitter at last, the blood-stained blade flying through the air, Megatronus finished with an uppercut, sinking his gauntlet into Grindsplitter's stomach, crimson gaze locked on wide, disbelieving eyes. The tip of the gauntlet blade poked out of the center of Grindsplitter’s back.

Grindsplitter's legs crumpled beneath him, but he was left suspended in the air, borne aloft due to Megatronus' strength. Blood dribbled out of his mouth, and he coughed once, twice, body spasming violently. Megatronus spoke to him lowly, another gloat judging from the smirk on his lips. Then, in the blink of an eye, Megatronus sheathed the blade, and Grindsplitter dropped, heavy as stone.

Landing upon his back, legs folded under him, into the dirt. Silent and still.

Another gladiator, fallen. 

The crowd exploded with cheers, applause, whistles, every exuberant emotion imaginable spilling forth. Even the man who'd lost his bet near her was shouting praises. "Primus' balls, but that sonuva glitch can fight!"

Melody felt that joy slamming into her on all sides, and while she would admit she was relieved—that it was over, that Megatronus was down there, the one standing tall and proud and alive—a peculiar sadness gripped her heart.

For Grindsplitter, and whoever was still out there who may have cared for him.

For the fact that the lower castes felt the need to do this, to fight and die just so they could feel a fleeting moment of exhilaration and joy in their lives. For the fact that so many watched these death matches with pure pleasure in their hearts, that they bet on who would live and die. 

The fact that even she had felt that pleasure watching Megatronus fight. That her face flushed even now remembering the strength of his arms, those bulging muscles. That her pulse raced at recalling his speed and the precise power and control behind it. That her breath quickened as she realized he'd toyed with them all, no matter what the gamemakers threw at him. Easy, easy prey.

There was something wrong. Something terribly wrong, with her, with all of them.  

"I STILL FUNCTION!" Megatronus' booming voice carried over everything as he rose a fist to the crowd, eyes shining bright with wrath and victory, control in every movement he made as he stepped toward the center of the arena. If the venom was affecting him, he gave absolutely nothing away.

Melody thought she knew the meaning of a storm, but as she watched him, as the crowd reacted in a frenzy, chanting his name over and over again, she realized she was wrong.

She'd never witnessed a storm like him before.

"And here we go," Skid said, barely audible beside her. 

Melody didn’t remember when she’d sat down again, but she got her legs under her, rising. "I have to go. He'll be at the gate soon."

"Not quite,” said Skid. “You're better off waiting."

"What do you mean?"

"He's not going anywhere. Not yet." 

"He's got poison running through his body!" 

"It's happened before. He doesn't care. He won't leave without getting a few words in." 

"What?"

But Skid brought a finger to his lips; the rest of the crowd had grown strangely silent, too. Only a few groups of people, mostly well-dressed elites, were leaving or heading to the tellers to collect their winnings. The rest stayed where they were, attention rapt on Megatronus.

"Watch," Skid said softly once more, and Melody slowly resumed her seat.

And listened with burning curiosity as Megatronus, the Champion of Kaon, began to speak to the masses.


	8. The Hand That Feeds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry this took forever. I've been trying to get this chapter written since September, but NaNoWriMo happened, I got sick--twice--and a whole host of other problems. Such is life. (Also, I was procrastinating on writing Megatronus' speech in a serious way, but I'm finally happy about how it turned out.)
> 
> I need to take time here to stress that I am not a doctor or medical professional myself in any form. Everything I write about medic-wise for this fic I've done my best to research and present as accurately as possible, even in the laxer setting that is Kaon's arena, and I am sorry for any time you may go, "Hey, that's not medicine/science/right!" With that being said, please do NOT take anything you read here as being enough information for self-treatment. Always contact your doctor or dial emergency for any medical or life-threatening situations. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Here's what the audience saw.

A proud man, one that towered over most, who refused to bow and scrape. Who refused to accept the destiny that had been decided for him since birth by people who were merely born luckier than him. A man who had been given not a name, but a designation: D-16. Who had thrown it aside and taken instead the name of the Fallen, his first act of open defiance and something no one could ignore.

He was suited in heavy, military-grade armor, but it was not the source of his strength. Laborers possessed no armor in the mines or the sweltering furnaces to protect them, only their own skin, flesh, and bones—and a feeble prayer that their number wasn't up. 

Megatronus had given up on prayers long ago, choosing instead to rescue himself. To claw his way out of those slave pits by any means necessary using his own innate talents: a resourceful mind, a stubborn tenacity, and an unbreakable will.

Now he was here, powerful and singular, standing before so many of his own people, as desperate for change as he had been and still was. Hungry for so much more than better food and cleaner water. 

Hungry for purpose and meaning to their lives.

Maybe he looked like them at first glance, his crimson eyes common among the laborer caste, those coming from the Badlands especially. His brown hair, normally combed back from his heavy brow, had become disheveled during the match, but he appeared no less intimidating. Especially not with the pure goatee on his chin, which set off a strong jawline and made him look distinguished and a few years older than he actually was. The clothes he wore beneath the armor were whatever he could scrounge for himself, a universally acknowledged predicament of being born low. And then there were the scars. So many covered his body due to the dangerous work of his caste, so many earned in death match after death match for the sake of entertainment. 

That's the image Megatronus deliberately presented. _I am like you, but I am not you_. His broad back wasn't stooped in defeat like theirs, and though he walked with heavy steps, they were sure and steadfast with purpose, not fatigue. His body was strong, his mind and soul stronger still, not knowing the meaning of surrender, humoring no one as their master.

When he spoke was when the illusion was truly shattered. Gone was the Badland accent and the miner slang he’d grown up learning at the knees of men and women who were neither given nor sought anything better. In its place was regal intensity, a certain learnedness that was entirely self-taught, making his words pure but his tone and the voice that produced it rough.

Megatronus did not speak like anyone's equal; he _commanded_. He did not speak like he was your friend; he was your _leader_.

And it worked because that's what people wanted: someone to follow. Everyone had at least one friend already, yet when had their friends ever done them any great favors? Whose friends had led them out of bondage? Look around. Your friends were dying in the same shithole you were.

If anyone was going to set them all free, of every caste, it was going to be _this_ miner-turned-gladiator and no other. That the people understood that was something Megatronus had meticulously ensured. 

It had all started here, in Kaon, in this arena.

He was doing it even now.

And this— _this_ was what the audience heard.

* * *

Megatronus’ battle cry of victory had scarcely stopped resonating through the arena before the crowd fell into an expectant hush, still alive with brief murmurings but with all eyes on the gladiator in the arena.

Not on the fallen bodies he left behind in his wake. They had each lost their chance for glory. They had lost their chance to be heard.

Megatronus stepped forward, raising an arm in a gesture of acknowledgement to a box that hovered above the others.

The box where the gamemakers and Kaon’s pit boss oversaw the carnage below. 

“Yet another match I have stolen from you, despite all your machinations,” said Megatronus, and his voice carried easily, even to the topmost stands. “Can there be any doubt that I have proven my worth?”

A few audience members cried out, answering him in the negative. It was clear from how full the stands remained that everyone in attendance saw the gladiator as being worthy.

But worthy of what? Being a gladiator? Killing for sport?

Megatronus stopped, his bearing steady. Poison raced through his body; the audience knew this, watched for any sign of weakness with rapt attention, but he gave away nothing. 

His next words were scathing, ripping through the crowd like a scythe through wheat at the height of a dry season. “Of course there is still doubt of my worth, of yours! Look at where you are!”

Unease shifted through the arena, followed by more murmurings. Megatronus silenced them. “Time and again, I have appeared before you, telling you the knowledge that our illustrious High Council fears for you to know, yet you still do nothing. You answer their fears, not with action, but with fears and doubts of your own.

“I could understand your insouciance, once,” he continued. “Back before I started questioning, before I started fighting. What will it take for _you_ to start questioning? What will it take before you notice that the pyramids of our society haven’t built themselves, that our castes have made us all slaves of a system that none of us asked for yet have all accepted because we know nothing else?”

Megatronus’ hard gaze fixed on the crowd as he paced to the right, one hand clenched in a fist before him. “They have the audacity to call this the Golden Age of Cybertron, yet we live in stagnation, a fugue state without change or reason. Our planet seems to thrive and why? Because it is peaceful? Is peace what we have traded for freedom? For innovation, for the exploration of our very selves?”

The gladiator jerked his hand, as if he were throwing something away that disgusted him. He began to address the crowd on the left side of the arena. “Our ancestors once explored the far reaches of the galaxy, yet now we barely know our neighboring planets. Every year, we strain our resources, but the upper castes are allowed to breed families while the worker castes are used up until they’re useless, suddenly finding themselves without means or favor to be accepted for medical care. They think their masters will reward their service at last, when sickness and old age come calling. They are wrong.”

Mutterings broke out again, and this time Megatronus let them. People were sharing their stories, their experiences. Through discussion, people were learning that they weren’t so different and alone.

He watched and waited, feeling the anger and discontent build like a cresting wave that hits an unsuspecting metropolis.

“Countless times,” Megatronus began again as the conversations lulled, “have I watched men and women succumb to this grave pit we’ve been placed in. If death doesn’t come from above, from falling rocks and loose shrapnel, then it comes from the long, thankless work. From the bits of dust, steel, and dirt that turns your lungs black, slowly corroding you from the inside out. That is a miner’s fate from birth, but I know there are others. I know that many of us, not just laborers, are missing people dear to us that we had at the start. Where is their justice? Their memorial? Where is the proof that their labor contributed to more than just this cycle of death to which we’ve resigned ourselves? 

“Even this arena,”—he swept a hand out in a wide arc, encompassing the circle in which he stood—“these matches have been given to us with ulterior motives. To keep us distracted from our misery, to convince us that our circumstances aren’t as bad as they seem. After all, are we not entertained?” Soft yet icy derision tinged the irony of his words. “Isn’t this flicker of joy, this rush of adrenaline enough to make us satisfied?” 

Megatronus could sense it. The tension in their bodies. The cogs in their heads beginning to turn, rusty with disuse and distraction and fatigue though they were. He sensed confusion and skittishness, too, but he had no need or time for cradling the weak. The strong would rise up, and those that didn’t would either fall or follow behind. He would not wait for everyone to get comfortable.

Comfort was one of the many causes as to why they were all trapped in this dead-end existence.

“I see a different course of action,” he declared. “I see an entire culture realizing their worth and deciding to pursue it, tearing down every system that tells them they can’t. Who is actually born a laborer? Who is born a politician? We were all taught these things due to the situation of our birth, not because we came into this word with an innate, Primus-given talent for them. Why, then, should our futures be decided before we can even speak? Why shouldn’t you be allowed to pursue the desires of your soul?

“We can change this world. We can destroy the caste system and replace it with one that allows every Cybertronian their own agency, their own chance at greatness. We can be the steel and grit that builds up and settles in the Council’s lungs until they can no longer ignore us, until it becomes life-threatening to do so. But we can only do this by believing we can, by standing together and doing whatever is necessary.”

Megatronus cast another knowing glance at the gamemakers’ box where he knew the broadcaster was located. He knew by now that the diligent little data clerks at Iacon had long ago intercepted this broadcast, preventing his speech from traveling to anywhere else in Cybertron’s Grid. But they could not stop him here. They were only delaying the inevitable.

Winding down, he said to his private audience as if he were sharing some great secret, “The High Council will, of course, try to dissuade you from any action. They will tell you to disregard the doubts that creep across your mind. But we all have doubts, don’t we? You only heed them now because you have been convinced that there is nothing else out there for you anyway. The world is what it is, so you put your head down and get back in line, wondering why nothing ever changes even as you stay the same.

“Enough!” the gladiator growled. “What are you waiting for? A sign? A deliverer?” He spread his arms out wide. “Here I am! If you accept no other truth from me, accept this. If you want freedom, if you desire anything greater in this world than what caste you belong to, it will never be given to you, not without strings attached. You will have to fight for it! You will have to _take it!”_

Megatronus turned and began walking toward Gate One, and he did not grace the crowd with another glance or word as they broke into a roar at his back. Approval, praise, questions, even slurs. The noise blended into one fervid sound that Megatronus routinely ignored.

His vision was beginning to blur, and even though he stepped with purpose, he felt sluggish. The wounds on his body stung and burned, as they had throughout his speech, and they were only getting worse. The poison was doing its slow and deadly work.

He supposed he should be thankful that they hadn’t chosen a venom that was instant death, that he had been able to speak coherently for a few minutes. It meant he had good odds that the poison wouldn’t kill him, especially in the hands of a medic. 

Ah, yes.

_His_ medic…

She was watching him through the open gate, hovering at the entrance with a gurney at her side. Snapping a word to a man next to her—another medic, off-duty, Megatronus recognized—Melody pinned the gladiator with a glare, her hand clenched around the gurney’s handle in impatience. 

Megatronus barely noticed the man run past him into the arena. He didn’t care about that. His attention was on Melody, how beneath the angry flush of her cheeks, her skin was paler than usual as if she was spooked. Her eyes surveyed his injuries, landing on the swelling skin around the poisoned wound on his left leg, and her knuckles turned white.

Briefly, Megatronus wondered how she’d look if she had seen how he’d gotten them. If she had heard his words meant for every caste and casteless being alive. Would her skin have paled in horror as it was now, or would her flush have suffused everything, not out of anger but from pleasure?

He didn’t worship Primus, but Megatronus thought it was completely unsporting of the creator to torment him before he’d even committed half the affronts he had planned. Now, he had to earn his punishment. 

It was only when he was past the gate, the rumbling steel door closing behind him, that he stumbled, now away from outsider eyes. Megatronus didn’t have much choice. Even his will was no match against the poison that was robbing him of control of his body. 

“What will it take?” he said to her slowly so as to not slur the words. She must have heard him clearly for her eyes widened as he loomed over her. “For you to realize…”

His vision went white. He felt his eyes roll back, and then darkness. Familiar, hated darkness.

* * *

“Oh, shit!” Melody yelped and caught Megatronus under his arms as he tilted forward.

Then, she was falling, her legs giving way under her as she took on all of the gladiator’s weight. A fifty-pound weight, she could handle no problem. One hundred pounds, she would struggle, but she could manage it for a brief time. Megatronus was easily double that weight, if not triple thanks to the military grade armor still attached to his body. Her knees landed hard on the floor with one of her ankles crushed uncomfortably underneath her. Wincing, it was all she could do to keep the rest of Megatronus upright, her arms wrapped around his back in an embrace that would’ve been intimate if he’d been conscious. 

Thank Primus, he wasn’t. 

“A little help!” she called over his shoulder to the two arena techs that were running toward her.

The two men were the same techs she’d seen before, and they lifted Megatronus out of her arms with rapid familiarity, knowing exactly what to do. Rising, she made for the gurney, lowering it to floor level. “Help me get him on here, and get that armor off as fast as you can.” 

They did as she ordered, hands flying as they wrenched the armor free. Time was of the essence, and everyone in the room knew it. 

The gate opened, and Skid pealed back inside before it closed again, Grindsplitter’s sword in hand. “Lab, antidote, Medbay B!”

“Comm me!” Melody called the reminder at his back as he sprinted past her. They’d already discussed the plan on the way down here. Skid would discover what venom they were working with, hopefully find the antidote in their stock, and meet her in Medbay B. Meanwhile, she’d be doing everything she could to keep Megatronus alive until then.

The techs’ work done and the gurney raised again, Melody took Megatronus to Medbay B as quickly as the lift and her legs would go.

All the while, she commed for assistance from other medical teams. All the while, she was ignored.

That’s when she knew something wasn’t right. That’s when she knew the mob fully expected her to comply with their plan.

Melody supposed gratefulness was what she was supposed to feel, that she wouldn’t have any other medic’s prying eyes on her, asking her questions about what she was doing to “treat” Megatronus. Instead, all she felt was panicked, and that feeling only worsened when she got him hooked up to a monitor and saw how erratic his heartbeat had become in real time. 

How the hell was she supposed to just let this poison run its course and hopefully not kill the Champion of Kaon?

How the hell was she supposed to go against the mob?

And where the hell was Skid? 

She had just sanitized her hands, put on gloves, and cut away enough of Megatronus' bodysuit to study the swelling cut on his leg when her comm beeped. 

“Talk,” she said, allowing the transmission through. 

“Alright, I got some good news and some bad news,” Skid said, sounding harassed and out of breath. He didn’t wait for her to ask. “The good news is pit viper.” 

Relief rose within her so quickly she almost had to sit down. The pit viper was a common venomous snake, living comfortably in the bowels of the Pits. They protected their underground homes fiercely, so every arena and Pit hospital kept a large stock of antidote on hand at all times. 

After all, the capos and Don Clench operated on the lower levels. They made sure they’d always be cared for whenever they got bit, which happened fairly often. 

“The bad news,” Skid went on, “is that I only found the one vial. No idea what happened to the rest. The stock room was a mess when I walked in. Any idea why?”

She did, but it wasn’t one she could share. “No, you?” 

“No clue.”

“Then we’ll have to make this count.” 

Two minutes later, Skid breezed in, but instead of handing her the antivenin and making his way home, he immediately went toward the sink for sanitization and to get extra scrubs from the cabinets underneath. Throwing them over his clothes, he nodded at her quizzical expression, a wry grin on his face. “So how many fancy hospital rules did I just break?”

“So many,” she said, pretending that’s what she’d been confused about. “Just like we all do every day. It stresses me out.”

“Good thing this ain’t really a hospital.” With a snap of elastic, Skid settled a mask over his nose and mouth, and together they got to work.

Melody kept an eye on Megatronus’ slow-beeping pulse and an eye on Skid as he applied pressure to the laceration on Megatronus’ leg. She picked up the vial of antivenin Skid had left on their work table and inwardly fretted. How was she going to do this with Skid in the room?

“So,” Skid said, elongating the word in a drawl, “what’d you think?”

She snapped her attention to him. “About?”

“The match,” he clarified. “I’m interested to get a first-timer’s take, especially now that the fights have escalated so much.” 

Melody was grateful for the mask that covered her face. It hid most of her flushed cheeks and how her mouth worked to try to pin down an answer. At last, she said, “It was more than I expected.”

Skid snorted. “I bet.” His eyes darted up to her for a second before returning to the wound. “Is that because you didn’t know our boy here fancies himself an orator?”

Megatronus didn’t stir as Melody’s gaze studied his face nor as Skid began flushing his wound with cold water, wiping what he could away. She had heard every word of Megatronus’ speech, even as she and Skid had gotten up to leave and headed for the gate. His fervid words had dogged her running steps, and even now they still rattled in her brain.

Particularly those he had said before losing consciousness. _What will it take for you to realize…?_

Realize what? What had he meant to say?

Now wasn’t the time to analyze it or the intentions his speech had illuminated. Melody wanted to, but she had more pressing matters.

Skid, however, didn’t. “So what do you think?” He rolled his shoulders, eyes falling on Megatronus’ face, too. “Is Megatronus gonna be the one to lead us into a revolution and overthrow our oppressors?” From Skid’s dry tone, he didn’t seem to believe it.

Melody took a steadying breath before responding. “You forget, I’m technically one of those oppressors.”

Skid sobered, though she could only tell because his eyes held a distance in them that hadn’t been there before. “Oh. Right.” He cleared his throat but said nothing else.

A uneasy silence settled between them as they both went back to their task. Melody couldn’t fake her preparations and delay administering the antidote any longer. Somehow, she was going to have to give Megatronus a half dose and not have Skid notice. Somehow, Megatronus would survive that and win his next fight, and Melody would have neither him nor the mob as an enemy.

Somehow, she would have to live with herself and that decision. It was either that, or die, very, very soon.

Still, she hesitated.

"One of these days,” Skid said, breaking through the silence and her internal dilemma, “they're finally going to let him and Soundwave face off. That'll be amazing!" 

Melody blinked at the change of subject. Then, she was rushing to clarify. "They haven't fought before?" Even before she finished the question, she remembered— 

"No.” Skid shook his head and patted the laceration dry. It was still puffy and oozing, but the bleeding had stopped. Skid unrolled a clean bandage, continuing, “They're both undefeated, and well, I guess Don Clench thinks it's better to have two champions on hand in case they lose one. Good for Kaon's reputation. Still, I'd pay big money to see that fight." 

Of course, _of course!_

Soundwave! How could she have forgotten about _Soundwave?_  

And who could’ve guessed he would become her door number three?

Without waiting a second longer, Melody administered the full dose of antivenin to Megatronus, smiling behind her mask. 

“You know, Skid,” she said, “I think I would, too.” 

* * *

Together, they’d gotten Megatronus stable and all patched up. He slept upon the gurney, which they’d moved to a slightly more relaxing location against the left wall of the medbay. The glare of the overhead lights wasn’t as harsh on his form, at least.

As they cleaned up, Melody said, “I’ll give you half my day’s earnings.” At Skid’s questioning look, she elaborated, “For helping me.”

“You really don’t—” 

“Yes, I do,” she said firmly. _For so many reasons._ “You were supposed to be off today. We don’t get many of those, and you helped me save his life. I just wish I could do more.”

“I’m such a blessing, aren’t I?” Skid grinned then shook his head. “But I don’t want your money.”

“Don’t make this difficult.”

“I’m not. I know how it is here, even for you, Ms. Crystal City, so keep your credits.” Skid crossed his arms and tilted his head up toward the ceiling. She waited as he thought. “How ‘bout instead you’ll just owe me a favor one day? One friend to another?”

She thought about it for all of a second before she extended her hand to him and smiled. “Deal.”

They shook on it, their shoulders loosened by the day’s triumph.

Melody should’ve known it wouldn’t last. 

“Well, isn’t this a pretty picture?”

Melody’s limbs turned leaden as Ajax made his presence known, leaning against the doorframe of the medbay’s entrance. His mouth twisted in displeasure as his attention flitted from her and Skid to Megatronus’ prone form. Melody wasn’t sure when she and Skid had separated, but both of them watched, frozen, as Ajax moseyed toward their patient, examining every inch of the gladiator before landing on the monitor. The one that showed everything from Megatronus’ heart rate to his brain activity. All vitals steady and secure. When Ajax turned back toward them, Melody detected a sick satisfaction lining his face.

Melody tucked her datapad into her coat and said to Skid, a little loudly yet pointedly, “Thank you so much for stopping by, medic, but as you can see, everything’s under control.” Melody ignored the flash of alarm passing over Skid’s face, pressing her for an explanation. She thanked Primus his back was to Ajax, preventing the gangster from reading his features, and continued as if nothing was wrong. “Actually, since you’re here, do you mind watching after my patient for a moment? Mr. Ajax and I need to hash something out.”

Without waiting for a response, Melody walked toward Ajax. Once she was near enough, the gangster said so only she could hear, “You didn’t do it.” 

Melody stayed silent. 

Hands in his pockets, Ajax peered down at her. “Are you really dumb enough to think that just because you’re a woman we won’t retaliate? We always get our pound of flesh, even if we have to take it from—” 

“I want to speak to your boss,” she said, staring him straight in the eye.

“Oh, good.” Ajax smiled wide and gripped her arm. “You’re dumber.” 

Melody supposed it was because Ajax didn’t want any witnesses—and because she had managed to fool him about Skid’s involvement—because he waited until they were both out of Skid’s eyesight before his touch became rough, wrenching and dragging her along as he took her to the one place she’d never wanted to go.

Don Clench’s inner sanctum.

* * *

It wasn’t at all like what she’d expected.

She’d expected a smoke-filled room, a spacious office with a vintage yet mighty wooden desk separating her from the boss holding court over her life. Plush carpet on the floor, maybe even a burning fireplace, a couple of goons lingering around the edges with their hands in their jackets, waiting to shoot her with one word from the don. 

Things never were how the holofilms depicted them.

Ajax shoved her down onto a steel crate, holding what she didn’t know and didn’t want to find out. Her breath shot out of her, puffing white in front of her face. The temperature had dropped significantly this far underground. There was no fireplace, only a few lightbulbs providing spots of cold, patchy light in the darkness. Other crates and boxes were stacked and shoved against the stark, gray walls, but she didn’t study them too closely. Not when one entire wall was dedicated to a series of screens, each showing a different part of the Pit, monitoring its denizens’ every move. 

In one screen, she saw Skid pacing in the medbay and running a hand through his curly black hair, distracted. Megatronus was still unconscious.

She wrenched her gaze away as Ajax left her side, his footsteps loud and tinny. The floors were metal sheets that clattered and bent slightly when you walked on them. A rectangular metal grate rested just off-center, and between the conversation of male voices echoing in the cavern, Melody thought she could hear the sounds of water running beneath it. 

“Boss,” Ajax called, joy and excitement radiating off him.

Three men, each of them stone-faced with trimmed hair and flat eyes, broke off discussing the images on the screens; the one in the center glared at the capo, annoyed at the interruption. 

It was the man on the left, however, who waved the others off and stepped into the circle of light. “What now, Ajax?” His voice sounded weary and hoarse but expectant. He didn’t speak at a normal volume but just under it like he couldn’t be bothered to raise his voice. Like you didn’t want to be the one who caused him to do so.

“Brought you the medic who was supposed to fix Megatronus for us,” Ajax continued, still smiling but a little less at ease. “She doesn’t know how to follow directions very well.” 

“And this is my problem because…?” 

Don Clench directed such a hard stare on Ajax for so long that Melody was certain the capo’s next words would determine not only her fate, but his.

“Sh-she asked for an audience with you, boss.”

Clench sighed and rolled his eyes, and the tension slipped. “I swear. We get rid of one, and then another takes his place.” 

As Clench approached her, Melody detected his features more easily. Despite the crow’s feet by his eyes, Clench appeared younger than he sounded, his voice belonging to a man that was much more grizzled. His hair was dirty blond and appeared washed out under direct light but much darker in shadow. Only his eyes seemed to match the way he spoke, a brown so dark his pupils were barely perceived, without a trace or glimmer of amusement to be found. 

They seemed to say, _Why the fuck are you here, wasting my time?_

“You’re the one Ratbat dumped on me,” Clench said, unbuttoning his jacket as he sat down on a crate catty-cornered to hers. “I suppose I’ll hear you out, always makes things more interesting before lessons get learned.” Clench rested his forearms on his thighs and leaned forward. “So explain to me, why do I not have a poisoned gladiator resting fitfully upstairs right now?” 

Clench wasn’t a fat, old don allowing his capos and soldiers to do all the work and run the gang for him. Clench looked fit enough to step into the arena himself, and his broad hands threatened plenty about what he could use them for to do to her. It took a moment for Melody to find her voice. 

When she did, it wasn’t nearly as strong as she’d imagined on the walk down here. It sounded feeble and uncertain, two things she couldn’t afford to be right now. “Leaving Megatronus poisoned would’ve been a mistake.” 

"Would it?" 

"Yes, because he still would've won and you"— _would've looked like an idiot_ , but Melody did not say that aloud. "You and he would have a lot more problems than you do now," she finished.

Clench peered at her beneath a pair of thick brows raised in doubt. "Been tending him for a few days, and suddenly you're an expert? Or is there something more going on?" 

"I'm observant," Melody responded bluntly. "I watched the man give a ten-minute speech at the height of his poisoning without faltering. I cannot think of a single reason why a diluted form of it would make a difference in the middle of a fight two days from now, where adrenaline and survival come into play.” 

“It’s my understanding that the blood pumps faster in those situations.” 

“That’s true, and the poison would travel with it, but the antivenin still would’ve prevented the poison from affecting Megatronus to the degree you wanted. Face it, Don; your plan wouldn't have worked. 

"Fortunately for both of us, I have one that will." Before she could think further about it and before anyone could stop her, she withdrew her datapad and held it out to him. 

“What is this?” Clench took the datapad and stared at the screen. His tone was too even for Melody to tell if he was interested or bored. Or pissed.

“You have two champions of Kaon at your disposal,” she told him as Soundwave’s stats illuminated Clench’s face in a soft, blue light. “Two champions that people are dying to watch fight each other. Maybe now’s the time. They’re closed to evenly matched as it is; they’re both undefeated and brilliant fighters. People won’t know which way to bet with any certainty. Think of how much money you could gain from a match like this one.”

“Megatronus is still the favorite,” Clench argued, but that was a good sign. He was listening. “And Soundwave hasn’t been here for very long. His victories so far could be attributed more to luck than skill.” 

“Maybe to someone who hasn’t spoken with him, but I think you and I know better. Soundwave isn’t as experienced as Megatronus, true, but he learns. Rapidly.” Melody had to fight herself to keep still, to not allow her right leg to bounce in anxiety as she walked Clench through her plan. “A few minutes in the ring and whatever advantage Megatronus has over him will disappear.” 

“ _If_ Megatronus waits long enough to let that happen.”

“He will. He loves a challenge. One might say that’s his weakness.” 

Clench studied the datapad, rubbing a spot on his jaw methodically as he thought. Melody gently inserted, “If your goal is to see Megatronus defeated and make credits doing so, Soundwave is your best bet, but it needs to happen soon. Because if you’re right and it is all luck, then Soundwave may not remain undefeated for too much longer.”

“You’re still asking me to risk losing one of them.” Clench glared at her over the screen. “Good fighters are expensive and rare to come by.”

“It doesn’t have to be a death match, though, does it? The gamemakers control the stakes, and you control the gamemakers.” Here it was, the biggest gamble in her arsenal. “Ensure it's not a death match. It's much harder to win against an opponent who's evenly matched with you that you can't kill. Maybe even impose a time limit," reasoned Melody. "It'll be a war of attrition." 

Surprise lurked on the slight twitch of his left eyebrow. “That’s an awfully cruel way to enforce a match.”

_So is forcing them to kill each other._ “It’ll be vicious, yes, and worth betting on.”

Clench stared at her for a long time. His gaze flicked back to the datapad and at last he said, “Anything else?”

Once again, Melody couldn’t read his mood, but she didn’t think it could hurt to sweeten the pot a little. “I’ve also provided a list of ways you can save money on supplies, just little things I’ve noticed after working here for a while.” 

“Such as?”

“Syringes, for one. Not even Crystal City uses glass anymore. Plastic is cheaper, you can order them in bulk, and in some cases, syringes can be reusable on a single patient.” She nodded at the datapad. “It’s all there for your leisure.” 

“I’ll have my accountant go over it. Expect it back in the morning.” Don Clench rose, holding the datapad by his leg. “And I’ll expect you in my box the day after tomorrow. We’ll see if this plan of yours works. Ajax,” he said firmly but not any louder. “Come here.” 

The capo had wandered away once the Don and Melody had begun talking, but now he crossed the room briskly, an assured quirk to his lips. “Sir?”

“You lied to me about this woman.”

Ajax faltered and Melody started at the graveness in Clench’s tone. “Sir, I don’t—”

Clench cut him off with a sigh. “You know how I feel about lying. Never to me.” He snapped his fingers and pointed to Ajax. In less than a second, two other men had Ajax by the arms and began dragging him backward until he was over the grate. Ajax struggled, yelling objections, which intensified after a third man approached holding a sharp knife. He passed it to Don Clench who examined the blade clinically. 

Melody shot up. Were they going to _kill_ him?

“One warning, that’s all you get. A finger will serve, two if you start acting like a little bitch, Ajax.” Clench looked up at her suddenly, as if remembering she was still there. He cursed. “Bolt, get off your ass and escort this broad out of here. She doesn’t need to see our business.”

Melody didn’t resist as another goon—Bolt, she assumed—took her by the elbow. She caught Ajax’s eye, and the look of utter hatred he cast upon her made her stomach roil. 

“Until the match, Miss Boggess,” Clench addressed to her back before she heard his footsteps recede.

Her escort didn’t walk fast enough for her to miss Ajax’s answering screams. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't claim complete originality for Megatronus' speech at the beginning of the chapter because I took inspiration from a variety of places:
> 
> "Slave" by Zack Hemsey  
> "Open Your Eyes" by Disturbed  
> "Nice to Meet Me" by Zack Hemsey  
> "Don't Get in My Way" by Zack Hemsey  
> "Every Day Is Exactly the Same" by Nine Inch Nails  
> "Come As You Are" by Nirvana  
> "The Hand That Feeds" by Nine Inch Nails  
> "Rights of Man" by Thomas Paine  
> Megatron's Anti-Functionist speech, which I have a picture of but do not know from which comic it originates


End file.
